


devil's backbone.

by ALSTROMERIA



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 07:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17596799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALSTROMERIA/pseuds/ALSTROMERIA
Summary: Scattered entries from Arthur's journal about a young woman accused of murdering her husband -- and how he fell in love with her.





	1. mariticide.

 

#### HORSESHOE OVERLOOK

 

  

> **[** _On the following pages, there is a small sketch of American Ginseng in the right corner. At the end of the entry, there are multiple sketches of a woman's eyes.]_

**A** t first, I was set to ride right on by.

Hosea was talking my ear off, saying something about the weather, or maybe it was the flies. I had to swat one off the neck of the horse before it could bite it.

Sweat made a puddle down the front and back of my shirt — I’d ditched the coat hours earlier and still got no relief. The sun beating down on my already blistering, red neck was enough to make me almost miss the mountains.

“Hey, Arthur. Look at that, there…”

Hosea slowed his horse and I did the same, curious what had caught his eye. He usually isn’t one to point out something that has no business being pointed out, after all.

We came to a stop on the crest of a hill that overlooks the road below. And right beneath us sat a barred carriage, pulled by two horses that looked like they didn’t give a shit if those people got to where they were going or not. The driver was a lawman from the look of it, and bent over the back wheel, swearing up a goddamn storm.

I still didn’t quite get the whole picture.

“What about it?” I asked, spitting once to the side.

“Who do you reckon he has back there?” Hosea asked. He craned his neck to try and see past the shadow of the hill and into the carriage.

“An O’Driscoll, if we’re lucky,” I muttered humorlessly.

“Well, whoever he is, he’s only got one man lookin’ after him.”

“You sayin’ we spring him loose?”

“Or take him for ourselves. Depends how much the bounty is, and how generous we’re feelin’.” Hosea grinned at me out the side of his mouth.

I shrugged my shoulders. The cloth stuck to the skin with my sweat. I wanted a cold bath and a beer more than I wanted to deal with whoever this lawman and his quarry was. But Hosea usually had a nose for that kind of stuff. So long as it wasn’t a hotel of a bear, it likely wouldn’t hurt to humor him. Might even help.

“Al’righ’,” I said, swinging my horse around the edge of the cliff and heading back around, “Let’s go make us a new friend.”

The lawman saw us approaching. He drew his gun quicker than Hosea could even say ‘hello’ and backed up against the carriage.

“Stay out of this, fellas,” he said in a shrill voice, cracked with heat, “I’m headed to Strawberry for a bounty. I got a prisoner here.”

“Not a very tough one, by the looks of it,” Hosea reasoned, “They send you to take him in by your lonesome?”

“Her,” the man corrected, “And she’s tough enough. This gal here killed her husband.”

Hosea gave a low whistle. The two of us exchanged a glance before Hosea gave me a little nod, signaling me to check. I tugged the reigns on the horse and lead it around back, real slow like.

Hosea continued to chat up the lawman, “How much is the bounty for mariticide runnin’ these days anyway?”

I peered between the bars.

Inside, was a girl.

A waif of a thing, shivering in a white wedding dress with the sleeves and front stained dark red. Her hair was long and brown and her face was thin. I expected a lady murderer to look a bit more fearsome. This one was trembling like a leaf and blinking big, doe eyes at me from the shadows.

“She don’t look like much,” I called back to the lawman.

He came around the side, looking flustered, and huffed at me. “W-well, don’t let her good looks fool you! She shot her man on their weddin’ night, in cold blood.”

The girl moved like a ghost to the side of the wagon. With the light on her, her features became more apparent. It was a good face. A sweet face. One that got me itching for my pencil and paper.

It was like each of her features was trying to outdo each other. Her eyes were as big and round as dinner plates. And her mouth, it was a little too wide on her long face, and her ears stuck out from between her long waves of hair. But each piece just made her all the nicer to look at.

Though, from up close I could see the bruises on her face and her neck. There was blood crusted under her nose. When she grabbed the bars of the wagon, I noted there was a good deal under her nails, too.

She gave me those big, doe eyes of hers and her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t say anything. I stared for a little longer, trying to figure out what I was looking at. She didn’t look like no killer, but I had to remember there were all kinds. Especially these days. But something wasn’t sitting right with me. From the look of her, all bruised up and bloodied, I thought maybe that meant she had a damn good reason to kill her man, wedding night or not.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to step back from the wagon, now,” the lawman said and finally got courage enough to draw his gun.

Hosea smiled calmly and then tilted his head at me, “How about it Arthur?”

Now, normally, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Ain’t my business who gets locked away and who doesn’t, unless I’m getting paid for it somehow. I didn’t see any real benefit to saving this girl while we were trying to lay low, but at the same time, I couldn’t walk away.

Maybe she killed her husband, maybe she didn’t. Maybe the bastard deserved it, and maybe he didn’t. For whatever reason, I was unable to make myself move on.

I drew my pistol fast as lightning and shot the lawman between the eyes before he could thinking about aiming at me. Out of the corner of my eye, the girl in the wagon flinched. The lawman slumped to the ground. Hosea got of his horse and stepped lightly around the body. He joined me at the back of the wagon as I swung down from my own horse.

“Lock should be easy enough to shoot off,” Hosea said.

I grunted my agreement and took a few steps back, aiming at the deadbolt. “Back up, miss.”

She did as I said, and once I was sure she was clear, I shot the bolt open. Hosea moved first and swung open the doors.

“Let me help you,” he said and offered her his arm. Her own, ghost-like in white lace, reached from out of the wagon and took it. Even from a distance, I could tell she was still trembling. She moved like a wounded animal that hadn’t fed in a while.

I put away my gun and approached the two of them. Hosea let go of her and she wavered on her feet for a second before she got the good sense to lean back against the wagon. The whole front of her was red with blood, like she’d gutted a pig in that gown of hers.

“What’s your name, miss?” Hosea asked.

She stared at the ground, “Margaret...Margaret Sutton.”

I was gearing up to get ready to go. I felt that I’d done what I’d set out to do, and now my debt was paid up. Whatever had possessed me to intervene didn’t seem to care if I stuck around or not after. There was a fresh kill on the back of my horse, and I knew Dutch would be expecting us, so I waved for Hosea.

“C’mon. We should be headin’ back,” I said.

The woman lurched from the wagon and dug her bony fingers into my arm. She scared the hell out of me, she was so quick, and I jerked away instinctively. She held fast. Strong, little thing, she was.

“Take me with you,” she said. Her eyes were wide and wild. Red from crying, most like.

I forced myself to relax and then gently eased my arm out of her grip.

“Not uh,” I said, heading back for my horse, “Sorry, miss. Trust me, you don’t wanna go where we’re goin’.”

“Now hold on a minute, Arthur.”

Hosea’s voice. It had that syrupy, wet kind of edge to it that it always got when Hosea started to feel sentimental about something. I turned back and saw that he’d crossed the distance to stand beside Margaret Sutton and was letting her lean on him.

“Come on, Hosea, you know we can’t afford another mouth to feed,” I tried to reason with him, “We’re barely back on our feet as it is.”

“I can work,” Margaret insisted, sucking at her thin cheeks, “I can cook, I can clean, I know my way around a…gun.”

Her face drained of whatever color it had left as she said the word. I watched her long fingers clench and unclench, spattered with blood as they were.

“Sure, sure,” Hosea said agreeably, “And Arthur, just look at her. No one would ever suspect a face like that of anythin’ unsavory. Say the girls teach her a few things, she could probably swindle even the most cold-hearted bastards.”

I don’t know if Hosea really thought all that, or if he was just pulled to the girl the same way I was. Something raw and instinctual about it, a need to protect that welled up in both of us even though we knew damn well that we were barely taking care of ourselves. But I had to be the voice of reason. We had this same kind of feeling with Jenny. And look where that got her.

“It ain’t safe with us right now,” I said in a steady voice.

“Where do you expect her to go?”

“Valentine. Plenty of work in that town to be had.”

Not nice work, but it would be a hell of a lot better than what she’d be doing if she was with us.

Hosea considered me for a long moment. Then he sighed, and decided I was right.

“Fine, fine. Let’s at least give her something for the road.”

If Margaret was disappointed with the outcome, she didn’t say so. In fact, she didn’t make a peep as Hosea and I gave her a few provisions and water from our skins. I expected her to plead, or argue on her own behalf, but she just nodded quietly as Hosea gave her the directions and stared past him.

“You should probably come up with a story,” I said eventually, swinging back up onto my horse, “For the dress, an’ all.”

She looked down at herself, as if this was the first time she’d noticed she was drenched in blood. A gust of hot air blew and her hair picked up all around her and the blood-stiffened folds of her dress rustled.

“And get going quick. Don’t wait until nightfall,” Hosea suggested as he mounted his own horse.

As I tugged the reigns to turn around, I caught her giving me the most pitiful look. It was so pitiful, in fact, that I had to say something before Hosea and I rode off.

“Sorry, miss. We’re just…bad men. It’s for your own good.”

Not much of an explanation, but I felt I owed it to her just the same. She watched me with those big eyes as I pressed my heels into the horse and it began to pick up speed. Once Hosea and I were back on the trail, he matched my pace and called over.

“You think she’ll be alright?”

I looked ahead and tried to push it out of my head, “She’ll be fine.”

Later that night, I drew her for the first time.

I couldn’t stop drawing her eyes. I guess I thought if I drew them enough, I’d be able to figure out how they got a hold of me.

 


	2. bad men.

I needed a bath something fierce after bringing in Miss Ellie Anne Swan, so I had the man at the hotel arrange one for me. 

I was bone tired, caked in dust and barely walking upright at that point. The man took my coin and jerked a thumb in the back toward the bath. I thanked him and headed down the hall, rubbing at my eyes. Every muscle in me begged for mercy. 

To be honest, I wasn’t exactly looking where I was headed. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when I crashed into someone coming out of the room on the right. I reeled back, catching a glimpse of long brown hair before she finally came into focus. 

I startled in surprise, “Miss Sutton.”

She had an armful of blankets that she had to readjust. When she had a good grip again, she peered at me overtop them with those big, brown eyes. 

“Just Maggie,” she said, but her expression was still surprised, like I was the last person she expected to see.

She’d been cleaned up since I last saw her. Her hair was shiny and brushed in long waves, her dress modest and blue. She had a bit more color in her cheeks, too, and her eyes had a spark to them. 

Still bruised up, though. The one under her right eye had turned a sickly yellow, but her mouth and jaw were still mottled with reds and purples. The ones along her neck had become clearer, clearly showing the spaces between the fingers that had inflicted them. 

“Maggie, then. Glad to see you made it into town,” I rubbed the back of my neck, “You settled in okay?”

She shrugged, “Sure.”

Most likely, they had her asking men if they needed someone to help them with their bath. Or they would, soon as her face healed up. I knew they wasn’t exactly picky about the women they took in, but something about her being there didn’t make sense to me. 

She just didn’t have that look about her. Too tall, too thin, too delicate. Her features were too long and serious for that kind of work. She looked more suited to model long dresses in a catalogue. Beautiful in a grave kind of way. 

I ran my hand over my mouth, “...They treatin’ you okay?” 

She slipped her gaze over my shoulder. Her mouth went hard. 

She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper, “Please, I can earn my keep. I’ll prove it to you. I won’t be a burden.”

I sidestepped her. I knew better to get ensnared by that kind of talk, “I told you, miss, we’re bad men.”

“I ain’t afraid of bad men.”

I thought of the front of her white dress, all covered with blood, and her bony fingers pressing into my arm. 

“Maybe you should be,” I said, before moving past her.

I made sure not to look back.


	3. sixty-three.

>   _ **[** In the upper left corner of the first page, there is a drawing of a dog with spots.]_

 

I think we’re finally getting back on our feet.

Dutch looks happy. The girls are squabbling again. There’s a good deal of cash in the chest, and Pearson’s got plenty of food so he can finally stop hounding me for it.

Things are always changing, though. Can’t get too relaxed, much as Dutch likes to pretend things are taking a turn for the better.

It was just about evening when Miss Karen caught me in the middle of trimming my beard.

“Evenin’, Arthur,” she said with that smile she had when she was up to something.

I stared into the mirror to make sure I got a clean cut, “Miss Karen. You okay?”

“Just fine, just fine,” she said, jutting a hip out before giving me a coy look, “Me and Tilly got to meet your friend in Valentine today.”

I snipped away a few stray hairs and grunted, “My friend?”

I’m normally not in the habit of making friends. I assumed she must have meant the man I beat to hell outside the Saloon the other night. Or one of the sheriff's men that threw me and Lenny in jail after that night that I don’t much remember.

“She said her name’s Maggie.”

I put down the clippers. Karen smirked, all smug-like.

“I wouldn’t call us friends,” I muttered, “Hosea and I busted her out of a prison wagon few weeks back. Told her to head to Valentine for work.”

“Well, you certainly made an impression,” she grinned and waved an envelope at me, “She gave me this for you.”

I took the envelope from her like it was fit to burn me.

“What is it?”

Karen laughed, her body shaking with the force, “A whole heap of cash! Said she’s been robbin’ boys blind at the hotel, and she ain’t been caught yet. An’ that this would prove she could pull her weight around here.”

I flipped through the bills until I had them all counted up. Sixty-three dollars in all. I whistled.

“She made out better with the men in Valentine than me and Tilly did, at any rate,” Karen said.

“She tell you what she was gettin’ brought in for?”

Karen shook her head.

“Shot her husband. On their weddin’ night, apparently.”

“Well, I like her even more than I thought. Bet the bastard deserved it. Can’t imagine what kind of man would make a sweet thing like that resort to killin’.”

I could see where this was headed. And honestly, at that point I couldn’t think of much reason to argue. We were doing better in the camp, Marston was all healed up, Dutch was in good spirits —and sixty-three dollars was a hell of a lot of money. Especially for one gal to bring in all by herself.

“So what you thinkin’, Karen?”

“I say we bring her in. Me, Tilly and Mary-Beth will take her under our wing,” she said confidently, putting her hands on her wide hips. Her golden curls wobbled around her face with the breeze, touching the edges of her smile.

“You tell her it’s a dangerous business, gettin’ in with us? That she’s more like to get shot than not?” I asked.

Guess I still had Jenny on the mind. And Davey. And Mac.

Karen just gave me a smile.

“Oh, I told her. But I don’t think she cares much,” Karen said as she sashayed away, “Frankly, I don’t think that girl’s afraid of anything.”

“I dunno, Karen. I’ll think about it.”

“Think hard, Mr. Morgan.”


	4. wanted.

Well, I rescued that girl.

Don’t know if I should really call it a rescue, considering it was my fault she got in the predicament in the first place.

I’d been meaning to head back into town for a few days and just hadn’t found the time. Charles and I went out for a few days to hunt, and when I wasn’t with him, I was either sleeping or chasing down some fool errand to the north.

Karen never stopped pestering me about Margaret Sutton, though. Not even for a second. And once she got Tilly and Mary-Beth in on it, there was no more hope of ignoring it. I knew Hosea would be happy, at least. I knew he didn’t feel right about leaving her out there that day. He might not have said so, but I could tell when something didn’t sit well with him.

I saddled up my horse just before dusk and rode out. I intended to pick her up and bring her back with no fuss. Maybe stop into the store while I was there and pick up some coffee, too. I was running low.

But when I got to town, there was a crowd gathered around the front of the hotel. People were packed too tightly for me to see anything, but I got a bad feeling almost instantly. There was a good deal of shouting going on. None of it sounded good.

I urged the horse forward just a little. I didn’t want to get caught snooping just yet, depending on what was causing the scene. I knew better than to stick my nose somewhere it didn’t belong right in the heart of town. Laying low was easier on the outskirts, but right on the main street? It’d spell trouble for the whole gang.

The horse’s hooves sucked in the mud as I made my way over. Me being a good deal taller than the crowd, once I was close enough I got a good look at what was happening.

Margaret was on the ground. Dress caked in mud, hair all over the place. She held her hands in front of her face, as if to block a blow from the man standing over her. Hotel man— same one that’s always standing at the desk whenever you walk in there.

I strained to hear him over the hollering.

“I knew you was no good! Comin’ in here with that weddin’ dress, actin’ the damsel!” He was yelling. He reached forward and grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up. She turned her face away, but he drew her all the closer. In his other hand, he held up a newspaper. “You tellin’ me this isn’t you?”

Wasn’t hard to see what the paper was, even from a distance. Her photo was there clear as day and under it, in big printed letters:

**WANTED: MARGARET HELEN SUTTON**

“You just wait until the sheriff hears this, he’ll lock you up for good, he will! Or throw you in the sanitorium where your kind belong!”

She went limp in his grasp. He threw her down in disgust and then wiped his hands clean, as if touching her had soiled him somehow. He turned and waved down one of the men standing in the crowd, “Go an’ get the sheriff!”

He took his eyes off her for a second too long.

She was quick, all long limbs and rustling cloth. She took off from the ground like a bullet and pushed herself between an opening in the crowd. Someone tried to reel her back in but she spun out of their grasp and then twirled out onto the street, looking half crazed.

“Get her!”

I thought then was as good a time as any to intervene.

Before she could even decide which way to run, I galloped past her and stuck an arm out. I caught her by the waist mid-stride and then hauled her up in front of me, keeping my grip tight around her middle. She yelped a little but didn’t fight me.

“It’s s’alright, Miss Sutton. I’ve gotcha,” I called over the noise as the horse picked up speed and the mob behind us gave chase.

“Arthur?” she asked in surprise, and pressed her shoulders back against my chest, “You get the money?”

I pushed the horse harder and we broke free of the town. I jerked the reigns left to get off the trail and lose any potential pursuers in the hills. The sound of hooves softened as we hit grass and the wind rushed in my ears. The girl’s hair fished out back against my shoulder as we rode.

“Yeah, I got it.”

She didn’t say much of anything for a bit. We rode in silence as the sounds of the town faded and night fell on the Heartlands.

“You alright?” I asked her once it had been a few minutes, “They didn’t rough you up none, did they?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Another long silence. For some damn reason, I can’t permit them when there’s a lady around. I always feel like I have to fill the air with something.

“Now, this don’t mean we’re your keepers, or anything like that,” I said, “Everyone does their fair share of work and we’re all expected to help out.”

“I don’t mind workin’.”

More quiet. I eased my arm from around her waist as we rounded another hill. I checked behind us to make sure we didn’t have anyone following us. All I saw was night. She’d likely have to stay out of Valentine for the time being, but there was plenty of work to be done outside it. Besides, I figured, Karen and the girls would have to get her adjusted to life on the road. That would take time enough.

But she’d gotten what she wanted. Maybe not quite how she expected, but she’d still got it. She was one of us now. Joining us right when we were licking our wounds and trying to regroup. While there was still a hell of a lot of money sitting in Blackwater. While we still had graves for our friends behind us.

I wished I could have told her I thought she was making a mistake, but I barely wanted to admit that to myself.

“So,” I said, “Did you kill your husband?”

She answered without hesitation, “Yes.”

“Did he deserve it?”

She was quiet for a little while.

And when she finally did speak, it was so low I had to strain my ears to hear it.

“He deserved worse.”

 


	5. omens.

Lots of new faces in camp.

I suppose Sean is an old face, but having him back just puts one more body in the camp that wasn’t there before. We’ve got that damn O’Driscoll that insists he ain’t an O’Driscoll, too.

And now, Miss Sutton.

Karen and the other women have stuck to her like glue. They dote on her like she’s their little doll. Probably helps that she don’t talk much. Karen talks for that group plenty, and loves having someone around to listen. I think they’re enjoying having someone to teach. Gives them something to do.

We celebrated Sean’s return last night. Not that I’m glad about that loudmouth Irish bastard being back, but I suppose it’s a blessing he didn’t end up like the others. Wish the bounty hunters would have roughed him up a bit more before we took him back, though.   
Might have made him more tolerable.

Dutch put music on and broke out cases of beer and bottles of the good whisky. Him and Miss O’Shea got to dancing in the dark and I think that was the first time I’d seen Dutch smile, and I mean really smile, in a long while.

I milled about for the most part. I knew better than to get too drunk, but not everyone in the camp had my kind of control. The Reverend, who nearly got himself killed not a week ago, was stumbling around singing some god awful tune. Uncle pissed himself. Bill even clapped me on the shoulder and told me I was a good man.

I found some peace and quiet with Lenny, who’d damn well learned his lesson from the last time we drank together, and was trying to catch a nap at his tent. He wasn’t very chatty, which I didn’t mind. Frankly, I was enjoying watching everyone else. Real smiles, real laughter, full bellies, and not a care in the world.

At least for a night.

I danced with Mary-Beth a bit. Drank a little. Helped myself to some of Pearson’s stew. Every bone in me told me not to get used to this, but I couldn’t help enjoying myself. I couldn’t find a reason to be mad about anything.

And all the while, I kept seeing Miss Sutton. Always at the edge of wherever I was looking. There’s something ghostlike about that woman, I swear it. Tilly’s about her size and gave her a couple of dresses. None of them are white, but that doesn’t stop Miss Sutton from floating about in them like a specter.

It’s that long hair. The way she moves. If only I could get it down on paper, but I fear if I tried, I’d just end up with a willow wisp of something and she’d evade being put on paper.

I don’t mean to watch her, it just happens. One minute I’m staring out at the woods, the next I see her flitting through the trees. The next, I’m looking into the flames, and the edges of her skirt tongue the ash.

That night was the first night I heard her play.

The celebration hit a turning point. That point it always hits when everyone’s had too much to drink and the fine line between feeling good and feeling miserable and sorry for yourself gets crossed. Most everyone had staggered off to their beds to sleep. The rest of us sat around different fires and stared into them, chasing our own demons, I suppose.   
Nearest to me, Dutch stared ahead at everything and nothing.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Tried not to think about getting up in the morning. Tried not to think about Mary and her fool brother, probably halfway across the goddamn world already.

The low, heavy notes of a banjo started up from far off. The strings plucked hard until they rolled together smooth as syrup and it began to sound like the song was coming from every inch of the woods.

When she sang, it ached.

The song was sweet and sad. Just like her, I suppose. A little bit ghostlike. I got a chill in the heat as the words got to me.

“You did good bringing her in,” Dutch murmured beside me.

I didn’t open my eyes, “Good for us. Not good for her.”

“Our luck is turning, Arthur. You need to believe that.”

But I heard an omen in her song.

And I haven’t been able to shake it since. 


	6. for the pain.

I was bleeding like a stuck pig when I got back to camp. 

I should have tried to patch myself up on the trail, but I wasn’t sure if I’d make it. There was no guarantee I’d be able to stay awake long enough to stitch the wound closed. So I went straight ahead, running the horse until steam came off her body and her side was drenched in red. 

Stumbled into camp like a shot deer, blind and bleating and barely holding on. 

“Arthur!” 

Charles was on watch, which I suppose was a blessing. Don’t know what I would have done if it was Marston who found me bleedin’ out — I’d never hear the end of it. 

He half dragged me through the trees and into camp and then threw me on one of the tables I’d been playing dominoes with Tilly on just a day before. I felt something else inside me tear and blood started pumping hot and heavy again, splashing against the wood. 

“What’s going on?” Dutch’s voice.

“It’s Arthur! He’s hurt bad!”

I waved my hand, trying to stop them from fussing. A few bullets weren’t anything to get in a fit about. I’d certainly seen worse. Most everyone had. But fussed they did, with Dutch puffing up his chest and barking orders, Charles trying to push some cloth into my ribs and Miss Grimshaw clucking about like a hen. 

I faded in and out, mercifully. Spared me from hearing everyone fall all over each other while they tried to keep me from bleeding out. A sharp knife of pain would get me every so often though, and I’d jolt back awake, smelling the hot iron of blood and the tang of alcohol. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“Some sorry bastards tried to rob me,” I choked out. 

“Are these men still with us?” Dutch’s voice. 

I grit my teeth, “Funny.” 

I opened my eyes a slit and saw a ghostly wisp of hair. Ears sticking out. Mouth wide, set in a thin line. It hadn’t occurred to me that Miss Sutton was even around, or that she’d volunteer to help. Guess I assumed she’d be too frail for this kind of work, or wouldn’t be able to stomach it. 

I tend to forget that we found her covered in blood and stinking of murder. 

My eyes traveled down her arms and found her slick to her elbows with my blood. She had a bottle of whisky clenched in one hand and a needle in the other. Knowing her history, maybe I should have been spooked. But she gave me a soft look when I caught her eye that relaxed me all the way down to my bones.

She came closer to my head and slipped her hand back around my neck. Her skin was cool and sticky. She tipped my head up and then put the bottle of whisky to my lips. 

“Here,” she said, “For the pain.”

I drank like I was trying to drown myself. 

I wonder if that’s how the Reverend feels every time he puts his mouth to a bottle. 

She let me drink my fill and then took it away before I could choke on it. I groaned as I let my head fall back. Drink dribbled down my chin but I didn’t much care. It warmed me all the way down to my belly, burned just right.

Her fingers swiped gently at my skin. She drew the drew of whisky away with a bloody thumb and then stroked my hair back from my forehead. Normally, I’d refuse that kind of treatment. I’m not one to be babied, never have been. 

But I was so dead tired, I didn’t have it in me to be prideful. And if I’m honest with myself, it felt good. I hadn’t felt a woman’s touch in a long while and even though her hands were covered in my blood, I didn’t mind. Her skin was cool and the motions soothed me like no drink ever had. 

“That’s it, almost done,” she said. Her voice sounded far away, like she was whispering to me through the trees, or carrying a song over water. 

I barely felt whoever had their hands in my ribs. Faintly, I felt the pull and tug of the needle and thread but it bothered me none. What I felt the most was Miss Sutton’s hand through my hair, her cool knuckles on my brow. When I lifted my head for more whisky, she gave it to me. Her voice hummed, though I couldn’t quite hear what she was saying after a while. 

By the time I was all sewn back up, I was well and truly drunk off the alcohol and Miss Sutton’s touch. She set my head back down on the table and I stared up at the stars. They swirled and shook above me. The whole world trembled. 

“Nicely done,” Dutch mumbled, “You did good, Charles.”

“He needs to sleep it off, but he’ll be fine in a day or two,” Charles answered. 

I tried to say something about them making a big fuss out of nothing, but all that came out of my mouth was a moan. My tongue felt like a stone in my mouth. 

“I’ll watch him for the night,” Miss Sutton said. She moved closer to the table and gripped the edge, like she was daring anyone to tell her no. 

Dutch agreed, “Thank you, Miss Sutton.”

“Let’s get him to his cot, at least,” someone said. 

I faded out again, in no state to argue about it. People moved about. Different voices drifted around me like a haze. Sure hands gripped me under the legs and arms. The pain of moving was dulled by the whisky and I didn’t make a peep as they carried me over to my wagon and put me down in my own bed. Thank God for that --I don’t think I’d have been able to abide being left on that table in the middle of camp where everyone walking by could see. 

The noise quieted down eventually and I was fairly certain everyone had left. I peeked an eye open. Most everything was blurry, and all I saw were shapes.

But then she turned her head, and all of her came into focus. Her eyes were as big as the moon, shining like diamonds. Her skin glowed white like snow and cream. 

“Get some rest, Mr. Morgan,” she said, her voice humming through my ears.

It was a damn good thing I was too drunk to speak, because right before I passed out, I’d planned on telling her that she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.


	7. bitter.

“Mary-Beth thinks you’re gettin’ sweet on her.” 

My stew was almost finished. Still hot all the way down to the bottom, just how I liked it. There was nothing set to ruin a good meal, but Miss Karen had other ideas. 

“On who?” I muttered through a mouthful. 

“Don’t play dumb,” she rolled her eyes, “On Maggie, o’course.” 

It was about the last conversation I wanted to have right then, but there was no escaping it. 

“Now where she’d go and get an idea like that?” 

“She’s not the only one. You’re always starin’ after her, and she’s always starin’ after you,” Karen said matter-of-factly, “The two of you ain’t exactly subtle.”

I snorted, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Karen had lots of ideas and lots of thoughts. Not many of them ever amounted to much. I liked her well enough, but I didn’t appreciate anyone putting their noses in my business. Miss Grimshaw was bad enough, asking after Mary all the time just to tell me how much she hated her. 

“Well, I wish you’d just get on with it already. I think you’re breakin’ Mary-Beth’s heart by draggin’ it on. Poor girl still has hope.”

Now she’d gone and completely lost me. 

“What in the hell are you on about?”

She sighed in an exasperated kind of way. “Oh Arthur… I told you once that you have a good heart, didn’t I?” 

“Pretty sure it was in the middle of tellin’ me I was a miserable, grumpy bastard.”

She laughed, “Well sure, but that’s why I like you. But you sure are dense. Least when it comes to women.”

I didn’t say anything. I just ate my stew, hoping she’d leave me alone. But she wasn’t done. 

“You ain’t let nobody get past you since that Mary woman.”

I stiffened. The mouthful of stew went down hard in my belly. 

“Well, seein’ as how that went so well for me, I figured I’d struck out,” I said, more bitter than I meant. 

Karen didn’t flinch. She’d been hanging around us all long enough to be able to take a sharp tongue. 

“That girl was just too high and mighty, that wasn’t your fault. She figured she was too good for you.”

“She was.”

“Nah,” Karen shook her head as she stood and pointed a finger at me, “You just let her and her family convince you she was.”

She put her hand on my shoulder. The muscle was all knotted up and tense from the conversation. Bet she felt like she was touching a stone instead of a man. 

“You’re not too old to make it work again, Arthur,” she said as she left me, “But you better get movin’ before someone else snatches her up.”

When she left, I wasn’t thinking about Miss Sutton. 

I was thinking about Mary, with her long hair, dark as a crow’s wing and her son-of-a-bitch Daddy and all the ways he made me feel like shit. All that time thinking I could marry someone like her, trying to ignore the fact that, the whole family knew exactly what I was. That she knew exactly what I was. 

Everytime she looked at me, I saw it, but tried to pretend I didn’t. That pitying look. A profound sadness. Like if she could rewrite me all over, she would. 

And only then, would I be good enough for her.


	8. fury.

I had to shoot the horse.

Damn shame, too. It was a good horse. I let myself get attached to the thing like a fool, and I was sorry to see her go. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except maybe the goddamn weather. It’d been raining in the Heartlands for days. And not a drizzle, neither. A harsh, angry rain that made everything grey and hazy, made it impossible to see three feet in front of you as all the raindrops hit the ground and bounced right up again.

Camp was a mud-slicked disaster. Everyone was getting on edge too, tired of being cooped up with one another under their tents trying to wait out the water. It was a blessing when Pearson complained about being low on meat. The excuse to get out of there was too good to pass up. I wasn’t sure what kind of game I’d be able to find in that kind of weather but I was willing to get soaked to the bone to find out. So long as I didn’t have to hear Micah running his mouth for another minute.

I went closer to evening, thinking I’d be more likely to catch small game darting out from their hidey-holes in search of food once the sun went down. Couldn’t see shit in the rain anyway, so it wasn’t like it made a lick of difference.

Miss Sutton asked to come along. Not for hunting, though when I joked about it she said she wouldn’t have minded. Apparently she used to butcher cattle on her daddy’s farm. She’s got the build for it. Her limbs haven’t gone all soft and supple like most girls. They’re lean and hard. Lots of long angles and strong lines.

She wanted to hop into town, and no one else would take her in the weather. I said sure, why not, I was headed that way anyway. Didn’t see nothing wrong with it. We got on an hour or so after the sun had set, and headed toward Valentine. I thought I’d hunt north of the town and then swing back around to get her before I went back to camp.

The rain was coming down too hard to make much conversation. I didn’t mind that. I like a good silence every now and again. Miss Sutton didn’t try and make any, either, and we rode just listening to the rain for a good long while.

We got halfway to town when the horse slipped in the mud.

It was a good thing we weren’t any higher up than we were, or else the fall surely would have killed us both. The horse went sideways and I tried to grab onto Miss Sutton, but the force of the fall jolted me out of the saddle and I went sprawling in the mud. I rolled for a bit before I finally came to a stop, spitting mud and swearing to whatever god could hear me.

The rain thundered, but I still heard the horse somewhere up ahead of me in the dark screaming in pain.

“Miss Sutton!” I called out, pushing myself up to my hands and knees, “Miss Sutton!”

Her voice called from out ahead, “Arthur!”

I stumbled to my feet and squinted as the rain dripped into my eyes. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I put a hand in front of my face, hoping that would help, and tried to get up the hill.

While slipping like a fool in the mud, I called out to her, “You hurt?”

As I plowed up the hill, her voice got clearer.

“No! You?”

“I'm fine,” I grunted, finally cresting the hill and managing to keep my footing.

I could see the outline of her up ahead. Even not dressed in white, she had that strange, phantom-like quality to her. Like the rain was glowing on her.

I got to her as quick as I could and looked her over. She looked okay. Wet as a dog, but okay. The whites of her eyes were wide in the dark.

“Your horse,” she said over the rain.

“Yeah, I know.”

I’d managed to keep my rifle in the fall. I unslung it from my shoulder and made my way over to where the horse lay in the mud, screeching and steaming, its nostrils flaring, its eyes rolling back in its head.

“Leg’s broken,” I muttered, mostly to myself. Rain water dripped off my lips and ran down my chin as I set my mouth.

Best thing to do was to put her out of her misery. As much as I hated to do it, I couldn’t let her suffer. I turned around, a little surprised to find Miss Sutton right behind me.

“You might not wanna watch this,” I advised.

She looked resolute, her hair plastered to her shoulders and her skin luminous in the dark. Her eyes never left the horse, but she didn’t look afraid. Sad, maybe. I shrugged and turned about. If she wanted to watch, who was I to stop her?

I put a bullet in the horse’s head and the god awful noise finally stopped. In the pounding rain that followed, I sighed. The air blew out of my lungs in a cloud.

“We better find somewhere to lay low for the night. No way we’re makin’ it back on foot in this.”

Miss Sutton didn’t object. Guess she didn’t really have much of a choice, even if she wanted to. She waited while I took the saddle and the rest of the supplies off the horse and shouldered them. I was cursing myself for not bringing a tent, or even proper fixings for a fire. Not that either would have done us much good.

“There’s some shelter in the rocks back the way we came,” I said, “Might be enough to keep us out of the rain.”

“Okay,” Miss Sutton said, and then reached for one of the saddle bags, “Let me carry something.”

I wasn’t about to tell her no. I let her take some of the food, the bow and my repeater. Trusted she wouldn’t blow her foot off with it or anything.

Then, we walked. Or trudged, more like. Miss Sutton almost lost a goddamn boot in the mud and I had to get down on my hands and knees to pull her leg free.

Felt like it took months to get up from the trail and into the jagged, rocks where we finally found some form of shelter. Wasn’t quite a cave, but it was deep enough that it had a roof of red stone and a dry, gaping mouth. We settled in, soaking wet, covered in mud and defeated.

I tossed the saddle against the wall and then planted myself against it. Rain dribbled from the brim of my hat so I took it off and set it beside me.

Miss Sutton sat across from me, propped up on the other wall. The moonlight made her all silver. She look half drowned, her hair like dark, wet weeds and her dress clinging to her in places that I was trying my best not to look. She was shivering, too. We both were. A fire would do us both good, but I didn’t think we’d have much luck. Any wood we were like to find would be too wet to catch.

I dug around in one of the bags we took off the horse and found one of my jackets that I kept on me just in case the weather turned. It was a little drier than everything else, and I shook it out once before moving over to Miss Sutton.

“Here,” I said, and tossed it at her.

“What about you?” She asked as she drew the damp cloth around her shoulders.

“I’ll be fine. I run hot,” I said. Mostly true.

I shrugged off my drenched jacket and laid it out on the saddle. There was no sun to dry it, but it was worth a try. I rubbed my shoulders hard and wished for a fire. Ground my teeth to stop them from chattering.

“You think it’ll let up?” She asked.

“Sure,” I said as confidently as I could manage.

But it didn’t. Not even for a minute. We sat there, watching it, for what must have been hours. Thunder rolled through the plains and lightning struck. We became an audience to nature’s fury. For a bit, it was too loud to even talk. Later, when the thunder stopped, it became tolerable again. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but I could at least hear myself think again.

Miss Sutton, for her part, had been content to just sit and watch the display. She rested her head against the rock and turned her face to the countryside. Sometimes, the lightning would flash and make her face all bright so I could see every detail. The long nose, wide mouth, those big eyes that I could never quite get right when trying to sketch from memory.

After the worst of the thunder and lightning passed, she caught me looking at her.

“Can I ask you something, Arthur?”

I rubbed at my chin, “Sure.”

“Why’d you bust me out of that wagon?”

I couldn’t fault her for asking, and thought I owed it to her to give an honest answer.

“I dunno,” I started, “You just looked… too nice to be in there, is all.”

She flinched and looked away, wounded.

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” I quickly amended.

“What if you knew for a fact that I wasn’t nice?” She interrupted me, “Would you still have saved me then?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted, “I don’t pretend to be no judge of anyone’s character. Not like I got a lot of room to talk.”

She went quiet.

I pressed her, “What brought this all on, anyway?”

“No one’s asked me.”

“Asked you what?”

“Why I did it.”

I got her meaning well enough. I shrugged a bit, the wet cloth against my shoulders rubbing up against gritty rock.

“No reason to,” I said, “Our group ain’t exactly made of saints. So long as you pull your weight, we don’t much care what you got up to before you joined.”

She frowned a little, like she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. After a moment, she mumbled, “Strange folk.”

“Sure are.”

The rain pounded outside our little hovel some more. But it seemed like there was a big stretch of quiet between us all of a sudden. That urge in me to break it came up again.

“If you’re lookin’ for confession, I ain’t exactly a priest,” I said, “But I’ll listen all the same.”

She was quiet for so long, I thought she’d decided not to tell me about it at all. But just when I was about ready to give up, her voice came through the buckets of rain, clear as a bell.

“First thing you gotta know is that it wasn’t self-defense. They’d probably have still locked me up for that too, but that wasn’t what it was.”

I nodded to show her I was listening. Kept my face real even, so I wouldn’t spook her into not sharing more. She continued.

“And I don’t feel bad about it. I ain't sorry.”

Her voice caught on the edge of that, and I wasn’t so sure. But she trudged on, slogging through the thick emotion in her voice until it was hard and even again.

“Callum was a bastard. We all knew it. Whole town knew it. He grew up mean and liked his drink better than any man ever did,” she said and her eyes went dark, “My family tried to steer clear of his, but it was a small town. Wasn’t no avoiding him.”

She turned her body until she was leaned up against the rocks and facing me. Drew her knees up and hugged them. Her fingers clenched against her legs.

“He was in love with my baby sister. She couldn’t stand him, and we all made a big joke out of it. That piece of shit wasn’t half the man my sister deserved, but he thought he had rights to her, or somethin’.”

She looked down, her hair framing her face. My fingers itched for my charcoal as the shadows sunk into her cheeks.

“He took her, one night. Against her will. And after that, she just… wasn’t right. Callum went right on living, not a care in the damn world, and my sister stayed in bed all day and cried herself to sleep for months. Then, she threw herself in the river with pockets full of rocks, and drowned.”

The chill that had set into my bones sharpened, like all the wet parts had suddenly turned to ice.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

Her eyes shivered in the moonlight, but she refused to let any tears spill. She set her mouth real hard, like she was gritting her teeth against it. Her hands flexed again on her knees.

“Well, few years after that, the farm went under. Crops got sick and daddy had to sell every piece of equipment we had in order to put food on the table. Eventually, we ran out of equipment. We were about to lose the house,” her face went from wounded to furious in a flash, “So good ol’ Callum’s family decided to step in. They had money, and they said they’d be more than happy to help — on one condition.”

Her hands curled into fists.

“That Callum ask my hand in marriage. ‘Cause if he couldn’t have one Sutton girl, he sure as hell was gonna have the other,” she spat, “And my poor daddy would have rather seen the farm and all the land go rather than marry me off to that son-of-a-bitch, but I wouldn’t let him. He still had my momma to take care of, and my little brother. So I agreed, and we were engaged. Just like that.”

“Hell,” I muttered. It was supposed to be in my head, but it came out loud anyway.

“He was scum the whole time we were engaged. Beat the living hell out of me whenever he could. Told me I wasn’t as pretty as my “whore of a sister” and that I better please him as much as she did once we were married. And all the while, this hate, this dark, ugly _hate_ kept buildin’ up inside me. Sometimes it felt like it was choking me, it was so bad.”

Her body trembled as she spoke. But it wasn’t the cold, or fear. It was rage. I knew that kind, knew it well.

“I didn’t plan on doin’ it the whole time. But when we were married, I couldn’t see past all that hate. I stood up there and looked into his eyes and all I could see was the man that murdered my sister. I told myself I couldn’t live like that, couldn’t live married to him, knowin’ that I was his wife and that I was gonna have his babies,” she hissed the words out and exhaled shakily, “Told myself I’d rather die.”

She tilted her head, “But then I got to thinking… why should I be the one that died? I didn’t do anything wrong, right? It was his fault. So why wasn’t he the one being punished?”

Miss Sutton opened up her palms and stared into them, like she was still seeing the blood crusted in the grooves from that night.

“That night, he drank too much and passed out. Was still wearin’ his shoes and everything. And he… he had this shotgun, propped up on the mantle. I wasn’t crazy. I knew exactly what I was doing. I picked up that gun and I stood over him in the bed, with him stinking of booze and piss, and I aimed it at his head.”

I knew it was still raining, but for a moment, all the sound seemed to stop. It was like time froze us together in that moment. Me waiting on her held breath, her talking herself down from the edge of what she was about to remember.

“Maggie,” I said slowly, just in case she didn’t want to go any further.

But she furrowed her brow and continued on, dogged.

“I don’t remember if I made a noise, but he woke up while I was pointin’ the gun at him. I think I must’a froze, because the next thing I knew he was on top of me, hittin’ me for all he was worth. Then he put his hands around my throat and started to squeeze,” her eyes were clear and her voice steady as she continued, “I felt around for the gun and somehow got a hold of it. And I shot him. Right in the head.”

Her face had gone completely empty. There was no fear, no fury, no nothing. She was clear as a lake and undisturbed as she finished.

“I knew he was dead, but for some reason when I got up, I just kept hittin’ him. I bashed that gun into what was left of his skull over and over and over again until my arms got sore because I was still just so mad, I was so mad—”

Her voice was so steady, I almost didn’t notice she was crying. But in the hazy moonlight, I watched two, big tears roll down her cheeks, thick as syrup.

“I thought once it was done, I’d feel better. I thought all that hate would go away. But nothin’ changed,” she finally broke, a furious sob cracking in her lungs like thunder, “Not a damn thing.”

“All right,” I murmured while I slid over to her, "You're all righ'." 

I took her in my arms and she didn’t fight me. Just sank into my side and shook like a leaf. Her tears were hot and angry on my collar. They weren’t the tears of a broken woman, or a sad woman. They were fury and fire, torn out of her one by one as she clenched her fists in her dress and sobbed for the retribution she was never gonna get.

I wanted to tell her it would get better. I wanted to tell her that some day, she’d wake up and not feel the anger filling up her mouth, or burning in her belly.

But I couldn’t.

So I held her until both she and the sky had no more angry tears left to shed.


	9. knife's edge.

> [ _At the end of the entry, there is a drawing of a pair of women's eyes. One eye is colored in, as if it has a ruptured blood vessel.]_

Maggie drifted through the house like a ghost. Her white wedding dress was pristine, fine lace and the color of frosting. It swept the floors as she walked. Her bare feet didn’t make a sound on the wood.

Far off, a man snored like he was getting ready for his death. Long, throaty sounds. The kind of sleep nothing can wake you from.

She went to the fireplace. Cold, black ashes kissed at the edges of her dress. Soot stained the lace as she stepped close and reached up for the gun on the mantle.

Her hands curved around the body of it. Long, white fingers over cherry varnish. It looked like it might be too heavy for her, but her arms bore the weight easily. She held the weapon comfortably, and with purpose.

Then, she drifted.

White lace stained with black, her skin cream, her hair flowing behind her like it was being stirred by a breeze. Through the kitchen, down the hall and into the room where the snores were the loudest, where they thundered from within.

She spilled into the room in all her grace and came to the edge of the bed. She stood close. Wasn’t taking any chances. Her jaw worked as she aimed, that wide mouth of hers pressed into a firm line. A knife’s edge.

Her finger went over the trigger. Moonlight shone off her fingernail.

The man on the bed awoke with a start. Couldn’t say what woke him, he just knew he had to open his eyes.

He saw the gun, saw Maggie, and didn’t hesitate. He knocked it clean of her hands and then went for her, blind with rage. How dare she?

How _dare_ she?

His hands wound around her throat as he took her to the ground. He squeezed with all his might. Her face went dark, blood filled one of her eyes.

He kept right on squeezing. Harder, harder and harder still.

Her mouth worked as she tried to get a word out. He loosened his grip just enough to hear it, curious what she had to say.

Her eyes locked onto his, one red and one grey. She spoke.

“ _Arthur._ ”

And when I looked down, it was my hands around her throat, and my knees pinning her to the ground.

I woke with a start. Sat up in my cot, drenched in a cold sweat, I flexed my own hands just to make sure they were mine.

 


	10. crocodile tears.

> **ENTRIES FROM CLEMENS POINT**

  
“I mean, she’s pretty enough, yeah? Jus’, I dun’ think people ‘round here are as friendly as you lot are fit ta believe,” Sean muttered from his spot crouched down beside me.   
  
“If you don’t shut your mouth, we ain’t gonna find out one way or another,” Lenny shot back from my other side.   
  
The three of us and Marston were pressed up against the overturned wagon we’d positioned just off the main road. Wasn’t ours. Pretty sure Micah hijacked it, thinking he could make a pretty penny off it from our fence before finding out that it wasn’t worth shit. Dutch suggested just ditching it somewhere so it would be out of our hands, but Maggie stopped him. Said she had an idea about it.    
  
Now, Dutch ain’t one to deny anyone their right to try and make us some money. So long as it doesn’t get anyone in too much trouble and it doesn’t get back to the gang, these days you barely even need to ask him permission. Still, it ain’t a bad idea. Most of the shit this crew comes up with winds up getting us into more trouble than it’s worth. Even though I’m pretty sure if Maggie asked to blow up a general store with a brick of dynamite, Dutch would have said yes.    
  
He’s sweet on Maggie — most everyone in camp is. Even creepy little Herr Strauss seems to have a twinkle in his eye when he talks to her.    
  
Thankfully for us, Ms. Sutton’s a good deal smarter than that. She’s more calculating than anyone gave her credit for in the beginning. Guess we never asked how she wrangled up that sixty dollars back in Valentine. Girl does her research.   
  
She got a tip from the man at the post office Trelawny set us up with us that there was a big wagon full of rich kids from New York coming through. Who knows what the hell they were trying to do — experience the countryside, maybe. Seems like a lot of folk, especially young folk, from the cities like to come over here and flaunt their wealth just for the hell of it. Like it’s some rite of goddamn passage.    
  
Robbing it straight would have been one thing. But there were five young men rumored to be traveling, and likely if those men were worth anything they’d be armed. Can’t be too careful out in the open country, after all. It’d be loud. Messy. More trouble than it was worth. And we were too damn close to Rhodes to cause that much of a fuss.   
  
But Maggie had another idea. Surprised the hell out of us, even after all this time. No one expects something that looks that sweet to have teeth.   
  
“Quiet,” John hissed.    
  
Then I heard why. Wheels on dirt, the clomp of hooves on the path. The wagon was close. And with it, hopefully a good haul. We all checked our weapons and then hunkered down close to the wagon, knowing that Maggie was on the other side.    
  
Almost felt like I could feel her, like I could count her breaths as she prepared herself for the show. I knew she was in her prettiest blue dress, the one that looked like the clearest sky you’d ever seen. Her hair was down. Her cheeks rosy.    
  
The perfect damsel.   
  
John shushed Sean and Lenny again as a precaution as the wagon neared us. It was so close now, I could make out voices from inside the carriage. We all held our breath. Even Sean managed.    
  
Maggie started wailing right on time. A long, keening cry that startled the hell out of all all four of us sitting behind the wagon. She went on and on until her shrieking turned into convincing sobs and pleas for help.    
  
“Please! Please, stop, I need help! Someone help me!”   
  
The voices in carriage came to a halt and the tone turned curious, questioning. I could hear the driver pulling up on the reigns and the wagon slowing to a halt. Maggie continued the act, sobbing and scuffling around in the dirt.   
  
“Please, oh God, please, help!”   
  
Sean grinned over at us and whispered, “Quite the screamer, that one, eh?”   
  
I gave him a warning glance that must have scared him pretty good, because he shut up real quick. Lenny jabbed him hard in the ribs for good measure.    
  
Behind us, a carriage door opened. A man’s voice carried over on the hot breeze.   
  
“Miss? Miss, are you alright?”   
  
Reel ‘em in, Maggie.    
  
“Oh, thank God! Thank God!” She cried. It sounded like she was crawling in the dirt.    
  
Footsteps. More voices.    
  
“I think she’s hurt!”   
  
“Get one of the blankets!”   
  
“Miss, miss! Don’t move around too much!”   
  
They were all clamoring to get out of the wagon first. If you listened hard enough, you could hear them shoving at each other, each trying to be the hero to a pretty girl in need.    
  
“My wagon flipped, and my horses ran off,” Maggie sobbed, “I didn’t know if anyone would come…”   
  
“You’re alright now, miss, just calm down—“   
  
“Jacob, any sign of the horses?”   
  
“Get her on her feet, come on, someone help her.”   
  
I waited for the air to change. There’s always a moment in a stickup when people realize that they’re in danger. It comes real quick. One moment, you’re fine, the next, you’ve got a pistol to your head. The whole air changes. The scent of it.    
  
“Th-thank you, thank you,” Maggie whispered. A shuffle of cloth and clothes. Someone bending down to help her up.    
  
Then, the moment.   
  
It came like a crack of lightning. I felt it before anyone even said anything.    
  
“What the hell are you doing?!”   
  
“Now,” I hissed.   
  
The four of us came out from behind the wagon, guns drawn. I glanced quickly around the scene.    
  
Four men, none of them over the age of thirty, and a driver. Dressed real nice. Clean shaven. Oiled mustaches. Not a weapon on any of them.    
  
And there, on the ground, Maggie lay with her long hair and her blue dress, holding a knife to a fifth man’s throat as he stooped to reach her.    
  
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. She’d played them all like a fiddle.    
  
“All righ’, empty your pockets and don’t make no trouble!” I called out, trying not to grin and failing, “You boys is gettin’ robbed!”   
  
With a knife pressed up a man’s throat, Maggie turned her face streaked with crocodile tears at me and smiled the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.    



	11. moonlight.

We robbed the bank in Valentine. 

Made out with more money than we’ve seen in a long damn while. Didn’t have to shoot nobody, neither. We made out like kings and later that night, Pearson broke out cases of beer, Javier played his guitar a bit and we all got well and truly drunk. 

I wandered around a bit. I never like to stay in one place for too long when this group is celebrating. You’re like to get roped into more drinks than you can handle, or into singing some song. Either that, or you get sucked into one of those pools of drunk sadness too quick when the alcohol hits one group faster and meaner than the others. 

I ate a good deal, then some more, and when my stomach was full to bursting, I took one last beer and then went out by the water. Javier’s music drifted out over the camp. He was playing something sweet, for a change. Couldn’t understand a word of it, but I didn’t need to. The tone was slow and pretty and it made the moon hang a little brighter in the sky. 

I’d just sat down on one of the felled logs on the edge of the water when I heard something splashing around the dark. At first, I thought it was some animal. 

I got up to investigate and a few paces closer to the water, I found her. 

A laugh, warmed by the beer and general mood of the camp, rumbled in my chest. “What in the hell are you doin’?”

Maggie turned around, her skin glowing in the moonlight. She was standing right in its reflection, a little silver puddle beneath her. The girl was thigh-deep in the water, her dress clinging to her legs and swirling around her like paint.

She grinned at me. God damn, I love that smile. It ain’t ladylike or polite. It’s big and loud and stretches her whole face. It’s the kind of smile you can’t fake. The kind that’s just really damn happy to see you. That makes you feel like you’re special, even if you’re not. 

I went to the edge of the water, “Ain’t you get wet enough in all that rain a few weeks back?”

“It’s perfect, Arthur. Really, you should come out,” she said.

I held up my hands, “Oh no, I can see just fine from over here.”

She spun once, her hair splaying around her and her long arms stretched wide. The moonlight played on her throat. The water sloshed around her knees. Then, she stumbled a bit, nearly going in all the way.

I tried not to chuckle as I set my beer down in the dirt, ‘case she needed help. “Careful, now, Ms. Sutton.”

As soon as she got her balance, she sent me a half-lidded look.

“You afraid of a little water, Mr. Morgan?”

She was a siren, with those come-hither eyes and wide hips, the long hair, and her long, soft mouth. I thought for a moment that if she truly was a siren, I’d let her drag me to a watery grave without a second thought. 

The call of her laughter got to me. Pretty soon, I felt myself shucking off my boots and rolling my pants up to my ankles. I leaned down to take one last swig of my beer and then tossed my hat to the grass. 

“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” I called out to her and then sucked in a breath as my toes hit the cool water and the mud beneath. 

Maggie giggled a precious little sound and swayed in the water to the rhythm of the guitar far off. She stuck out an arm to me as she swayed and I waded through the water, deeper, and deeper, until my hand caught hers. Her skin was cold and smooth like marble. I wrapped both my hands around hers and rubbed to try and warm her back up. 

“It’s cold,” I complained, but couldn’t quite stop grinning. 

Maggie pressed herself close to me all of a sudden. The water sloshed around our legs and we both stood in the patch of moonlight together. Looking down at her, I was struck again by those eyes. 

I’ve noticed a good deal about them. Tried to draw them a hundred times, never getting it right. But I never noticed how dark they were. Big, heavy slabs of stone. The color of dirt once you dig far enough down for a grave. The color of coffee grounds. 

I loved them. I loved how big and endless they were. It was no wonder I’d never had any luck drawing them before. I’d never been this close. Never had the chance to really look —how big, how bottomless, how soft they were. 

She tilted her head up at me, smiling with her mouth parted just a little. I could see the line of her teeth behind her pink upper lip. And all I wanted to do was taste her. I’d never felt anything so strongly in my life. 

I dropped her hands and pulled at her waist. She fell against me, a tiny wisp of a thing that I knew could handle a shotgun better than most men did. She didn’t tremble or nothing, just let me hold her. My thumbs went over the bones of her ribs. I wondered at how smooth her skin might be underneath that dress of hers. 

“I don’t feel a thing,” she whispered, in response to my complaints. Her bare feet slipped over mine under the water as she stood on top of them, getting a little taller in the process.

I don’t know if it was the drink, or her siren’s call or my mind finally getting fed up with how long I’d gone not knowing the answer to the one question I’d been thinking about since the day I met her. But before I knew it, I’d pulled her close and kissed her deeply. 

She kissed me back, grabbing onto the front of my vest to draw me down. Her mouth was just as soft as I’d always thought it might be. Just as sweet, too. 

When we finally pulled away, I leaned my forehead against hers. The initial boldness that had gotten me into this mess skittered back to where it’d come from, and the guilt took its place. Who the hell did I think I was, kissing someone like Maggie Sutton? I was nothing but an old, ugly bastard with a body count and a price on my head. What business did I have falling in love with anyone? 

I was sure she’d pull away from me. That the alcohol would dry up in her real quick too and she’d realize her mistake. But she didn’t move. Kept right on standing, her feet on top of mine, her fists curled up in my vest, her breath trembling against my throat. Then, she laughed. 

“What?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Your beard,” she said, “It tickles.”


	12. home.

Clemens Point looks real nice in the morning. The sun rising on the water, the wide open sky, silver fish jumping — it’s almost enough to make a man feel at home. 

Or at least make a man itch for a home. 

Most mornings, I like to get out before anyone else wakes up. But this morning, I made my coffee real strong and then sat out by the water. 

Camp woke up real slow around me. Pearson started the stew. Tilly hummed to herself. Javier sharpened his blades. Miss Grimshaw turned on the gramophone. 

And over in the grass, Maggie sat with Jack. Think she was reading him a book while Abigail washed up. 

I spent longer than I meant to looking at the two of them. Jack with his head resting on Maggie’s shoulder, Maggie’s skirt pooled around them, her knees brushing up against daffodils. 

I couldn’t hear what they were saying. But I watched Maggie’s lips move as she read to him. Watched the sunlight play in her hair. Watched him cuddle up close to her, and giggle.

Try as hard as I may to stop it, I couldn’t quite help pretending. 

That somewhere behind me was my nice house, one that I’d built with my own two hands. And there was a dog curled up on the steps in a little spot of sunshine.

And that Maggie was my wife, and that we had a little boy of our own. 

That’d just about make me the luckiest bastard alive, wouldn’t it?

I know it’s pointless to dwell on those sorts of things. I suppose I could have had all that with Mary, too, had I been inclined to change. But there ain’t no houses for me at the end of all this. Not for Maggie either, now that she’s joined us. 

Dutch seems to think we’ll find paradise out here, but I’m pretty sure all I’m gonna find is a bullet in the head. And I ain’t cruel enough to want to bring a child into our world. I told John that this life chose us, but maybe that’s not true. Fact is, he was right about Jack. He didn’t choose any part of this. 

Still, watching him and Maggie sit in the morning sun—

It’s hard not to wonder.


	13. shoot you dead.

Miss Grimshaw was throwing a fit when me and Javier got back from fishing. 

We could hear her out in the woods before we even got into camp. Now, Miss Grimshaw ain’t known for being a particularly sweet gal. But she also ain’t known for screaming her damn head off.

Back in the day? Maybe. I’ve got memories of her riding with the best of us, giving anyone who dared cross the Van der Linde gang one hell of a time. But I think she’s calmed down some over the years. She likes barking orders and sounding important more than she likes being in the action, I suppose. Can’t blame her for that. 

And she does care. In her own, mean, grisly way, she cares about us something fierce. 

“What do you suppose that’s all about?” I asked as I pulled up on the reigns and slowed the horse to a trot as the woods got denser. 

“No idea,” Javier admitted, “I’m just happy she’s not yelling at me.”

We hitched our horses once we made it into camp. As I made sense of the scene, I was mighty pleased to find out that it was none other than Micah Bell bearing the brunt of Miss Grimshaw’s fury. 

Javier rolled his eyes as he dismounted his horse and slung the fish we’d caught over his shoulder. He headed over to Pearson, but I stuck around, curious what had Miss Grimshaw in such a fit. I very much enjoy Micah getting his ass handed to him, and I’ll take it in whatever form I can get it. 

I stepped closer and began to make out what was actually being said.

“I put up with a lot of your shit, Micah, but this is too far, you hear? You ain’t got no right, none at all. I should cut off your fingers for it but I won’t because I’ve got mercy in me, god be praised!” 

Micah, for his part, looked like a guilty dog with his tail between his legs. A rare state for him. Hard not to feel like scum of the earth when Miss Grimshaw is yelling at you, I suppose. Even a smug bastard like Micah has the decency to look ashamed.

“But mark my words, you touch one of my girls again and it’ll be the last time those grimy hands of yours touch anything! I’ll chop ‘em off and wear ‘em around my neck, you hear me, Micah Bell?”

Lenny snickered next to me. We were far enough back from all the yelling that I could talk to him without raising my voice.

“What’d he do now?” I asked.

Lenny turned, like he was surprised to find me there. His eyes were dark and amused. I think he likes watching Micah get what he deserves as much as I do. 

“Micah got drunk and put his hands on Maggie.”

Fury sparked in me, hot as anything. Every muscle in me tensed up like my body was getting ready to go over there and give him a beating without first consulting my head. Wasn’t my place to. I didn’t own Maggie, and she didn’t need my protecting. 

“She handled him and he got the message pretty quick,” Lenny was still explaining, “But not quick enough. Miss Grimshaw saw the whole thing and has been layin’ into him ever since.”

“Serves him right.”

Lenny grinned, “You know it.”

I scanned the camp for a glimpse of Maggie. Knowing her, she wouldn’t be any worse for wear. She was the kind of woman who could handle Micah. 

I would have paid to see how she cut him down to size before Miss Grimshaw got to him.

Maggie was nowhere to be found. Maybe that was for the best. I wasn’t sure how I’d keep myself from goin’ over and wringing Micah’s neck if she looked even a hair out of place.

Lenny stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve just been enjoyin’ the show.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll join ya,” I said. 

I clapped him on the shoulder and then headed to my tent. I was eager to get my coat off, it smelled like bait and lake water. 

I was peeling off my vest when I caught a glimpse of Maggie just past the tents. It was dark, but it couldn’t have been anyone else but her. Her hair was all braided up around her head but I’d know the shape of her anywhere. 

Against my better judgement, I went to her. 

“Hey, Arthur,” she said pleasantly when she turned her head and saw me. 

“Hey, Maggie.”

I sat down next to her, but not too close. She smiled at me all easy and soft, making my insides twist up. 

“You okay?” I asked and then gestured a thumb back towards the camp for emphasis. 

She snorted, “Oh, yeah. Micah don’t scare me.”

“I thought as much.”

“Nice to know Miss Grimshaw cares, though,” she said, “Most of the time she’s too busy scolding us to make it seem that way.”

I nodded and rubbed at my chin, “She cares more than most. Just has a funny way of showin’ it.” 

I caught her chuckling at that. She swept a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“What’s so funny?” I asked. 

“Nothin’,” she said before biting her lip, like she was trying to hold all that laughter in, “It’s just… I’d say the same of you.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yeah, you.” 

Her boot kicked out from under her dress and knocked against mine. 

“You care about people,” she said, “Hard as you try and pretend that you don’t.”

I scoff, “What makes you say that?”

“You’re not as good at hiding it as you think.”

“Keep thinkin’ that way and you’re liable to be disappointed.”

She snapped a look at me that was almost angry. Her dark eyes tightened in on me, like they wanted to squeeze the truth out of me. She was a snake curling around my throat.

“Who taught you to think so low of yourself, Arthur?”

That stung a little for reasons I couldn’t explain. I looked away from her and down into the dirt, flexing my hands. 

“I don’t… think low of myself,” I said, “I just know what I am.”

Her hand clasped my knee. 

“What you are, Arthur, is a good man.”

“Nah, I ain’t good,” I shook my head, “Not after the life I’ve lived.”

“Why? Because you rob and kill people?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I’ve done the same. You think I’m bad, too?” 

“It ain’t the same, and you know it.”

“Why?”

For a hundred reasons, I thought. None of them I had the energy or the time to explain to her. I don’t know if I could even explain them to myself.

Maggie reached across my lap and grabbed both of my hands, “I don’t care what these have done, Arthur. Don’t you get it?” 

I didn’t speak. I was too wrapped up in the way her skin felt against mine, how smooth she was. How rough my hands were in comparison. But she squeezed hard all of a sudden, and made me look at her. 

“I know your heart is good, and kind, and there’s nothin’ you could say or do that would change my mind.”

Her hands slipped away from mine, and she reached for my face. I didn’t pull away as she grabbed the sides and made me look at her.

“Nothin’,” she hissed. 

Before I knew it, I was kissing her. And not like that kiss in the water a few nights ago. This was different. Hungry. Fierce. Like I was afraid for it to end, so I just kept choosing not to breathe. 

When we finally ripped away from each other, we were both panting like mad dogs. I lowered my head and grit my teeth.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

Her hand went through my hair as a smile curled her lips.

“Then I’ll shoot you dead, Arthur Morgan.”


	14. vigil.

The fever broke on the third day. 

I was told that was a good thing, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. The fever kept my head swimming, which dulled the pain. Once it was gone, I could feel the hole in my shoulder clear as day. 

The gunpowder had done the trick, at least. Would have bled out on the ride back otherwise. And I was already half dead by the time I got back anyway. Full of broken bones, a bullet wound and a mean bone to pick with Colm O’Driscoll. And Pearson, for that matter. And Dutch, for even entertaining the idea. 

My shoulder felt heavy and barbed. If I wasn’t looking directly at it, I’d think there was a blade sticking out of it. My whole arm was stiff. Wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to use it again — so I’d made a habit of flexing my fingers every so often just to make sure I still could. 

Maggie stayed with me the whole time. She’d done it once before, but that was when we were mostly strangers. And I wasn’t knocking on death’s door quite as loudly. 

This round, she wouldn’t let no one pull her away from me. She kept vigil at my tent all hours. I caught her sleeping with her back propped up against my cot, her head lolled to her chest and long hair skimming the ground. 

On the third day, I could finally talk without fear of swallowing my own damn tongue. 

“You need water?” She asked. 

“Mmmhmm.”

She got it to my mouth and let me drink deep. Then she took a cloth and wiped at the sweat on my neck and behind my ears. Then, her long, cool fingers went through my hair. Slow and steady, like a song.

“You’re one stubborn son of a bitch, Arthur Morgan,” she muttered.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Which was a damned mistake, because it felt like it nearly ripped me in half. I grimaced until the spike of pain in my shoulder evened out. 

“I’ve been told once or twice.”

“Shot, strung up, beat half to death, and you still manage to get on a horse and get out of there.”

I chuckle, softer this time so it doesn’t hurt, “Ah, I knew there’d be hell to pay if I didn’t come back. From you, especially.”

Her expression crumpled as her hand went through my hair again. I watched those big, dark eyes fill up with tears as silver as the moon. Her chin puckered and trembled as she tried to keep them from falling.

“Hey, none of that,” I soothed her, “Don’t waste your tears, I’m fine.”

She took my good hand and kissed my knuckles. I moaned a little because it was so soft, and so nice, it was the nicest thing I’d felt all day. I squeezed her hand, feeling the little smooth half-moons of her nails in my palm. The tears receded from her eyes and a dark kind of conviction replaced them. 

“Next time Dutch tells you to do something that crazy, you tell him no. You hear me?”

I smirked and laid my head back, closing my eyes. “You best take that up with him.”

I heard the smirk in her voice. “Maybe I will.”

“Oh ho, I’d pay to see that. The great Dutch van der Linde brought to his knees by none other than Miss Margaret Sutton.”

I can’t count the number of times Dutch has asked me to do something stupid. It’s been this way long before Maggie was around. I think she knows that — but she doesn’t know Dutch like I do. He’s just one man. Everyone is always so concerned with pinning the blame on him that they never stop to think about their own part in it all.

Though, I try not to think about Blackwater when I get to defending him. And I try not to think about how he’s got us in the middle of a damn blood feud right now, just hoping that there might be some gold at the end of it. 

“Dutch don’t scare me,” Maggie said low. 

I didn’t open my eyes, “What does scare you, Miss Sutton?”

“Losin’ you, mostly.”

A pit formed in my stomach. Part dread, part longing. 

“You can’t afford to think like that,” I said, finally opening my eyes to find her face, “Not in the line of business we’re in.”

She gave me a half smile and drew her thumb over my brow.

“Too late.”


	15. kind.

“Evenin’, Tilly.”

“Hey, Arthur.”

I’m fond of Miss Tilly Jackson. She’s a good girl, always has a smile on her face. Plays a mean game of dominoes. 

I filled up my bowl by the fire, but felt her eyes on me while I did so. I pretended not to notice. But when I straightened up, she was still staring, and had a hint of a smile on her mouth. 

“Everything okay?” I asked cautiously. I knew damn well to be careful around the women in our camp. They might look sweet, but they were just as quick and deadly as the rest of us. You just couldn’t see it coming with them. 

“Yeah,” she said, “You just look happy, is all.”

My mouth twitched as I tried to detect if it was smiling. Was my face betraying me?

“It ain’t a bad thing,” she laughed, “Don’t look so scared.”

She came forward, her head tilted as she studied me. 

“There’s somethin’ about your face. Or maybe it’s your eyes,” she said, while her own sparkled in amusement. 

I humored her, cracking a crooked grin, “You’re seein’ things, Tilly. I’m just as old an’ ugly as ever.”

“Naw,” she shook her head, “You’re different. Ever since you and Maggie got together, you look different. Happier, like you’re more peaceful, or somethin’.” 

I glanced across the camp, where I know Maggie was. I don’t even have to really look for her these days, I can just tell. I feel her wherever she is. 

She sat at one of the tables with Abigail. Her hair was all down and wild like I like it, all full of gold sunshine and waves. Her face was turned away from me but I could picture it just as well —the big eyes, wide mouth stretched to laugh, skin rosy from the warm sun, tiny freckles along the bridge of her nose. 

“Don’t let her hear you talkin’ like that, it’ll go to her head,” I smirked at Tilly. 

She laughed and then followed my eyes to the other side of camp. 

“Thanks for bein’ kind to her, Arthur. She needed somebody kind.”

Guilt bubbled up in me at that. 

“You don’t think we ruined her life by lettin’ her join us?” I asked. 

Tilly looked back at me with a soft expression, “She made her choice, Arthur. Just like all the rest of us did.”

I considered that. 

“Most of our lives were already ruined before we got here. Joinin’ up was like gettin’ a second chance,” Tilly continued, “We all knew the risks and danger goin’ in. But we figured all of that was worth the chance to start over. Maggie’s no different.”

I knew there was wisdom in that, but couldn’t help the part of my soul that pulled at that idea, trying to find the loose thread. What if everything we’ve been caught up in isn’t worth it? 

I’m sure Jenny would have preferred her life before all this to being dead. 

Javier once told me that he thought we were most assuredly all gonna die, but that at least we’d die free. But I think about Maggie, cold and pale and buried in dirt just as dark as her eyes, and I wish she’d stayed in that cage. I’d rather see her in jail than in the ground. 

Guess it doesn’t matter what I think, anyhow. 

If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Maggie doesn’t give a damn what I’d prefer. And if I ever asked her to leave, she’d string me up and give me a hole in my other shoulder.

“Maggie can take care of herself, Arthur. Just…enjoy yourself, and stop gettin’ so worried about things you don’t have no control over,” Tilly said. 

She’s wiser than her years, that one. 

“Thanks, Tilly.”

She gave me a friendly wink before taking her leave, “Anytime.”


	16. star spun.

> _cw: nsfw, sexual content_   
> 

 

 

Something is brewing. Something dark and dangerous.

 

Dutch and Hosea have us so deep in this feud that I don’t see no way out. Nothing we’ve tried so far has worked out, but we keep digging our claws in just the same. We’re a bunch of dogs digging holes in the dirt, just hoping one of them will have a bone in it. But we’re making a big damn mess of everything while we’re at it. 

 

But I made a vow to myself. I ain’t gonna worry about things I can’t change. I’ll sure as hell make my opinions known, but I’ll do what I’m told. 

 

And in the meantime, I’m gonna enjoy myself. Take some sweetness, since lord only knows when I’ll get the chance again. 

 

“You wanna come out ridin’ with me?”

 

I leaned into the tent where she sat reading a book. She looked up from it and smiled that big, warm smile at me, nicer than any sunshine. She closed the book without thinking twice about it and hopped to her feet.

 

“Sure.”

 

She didn’t ask where we were going. Which was good, because I hadn’t decided. All I knew was that I wanted to get out of the camp. Go somewhere wide open, where I could breathe easy and not worry about how much food we had, or what fool errand Dutch was gonna send us on next. I wanted sky. I wanted hills. 

 

But mostly, I just wanted Maggie to myself.

 

She’d been torturing me for days, mind you. It ain’t easy to touch someone when there’s a camp full of eyes. Can’t kiss the damn woman without Sean hollering from halfway across the camp, or someone whistling like we’re some kind of sideshow. For the most part, Maggie and I have kept our distance. 

 

But that girl knows how to drive me crazy.

 

Lingering touches on the small of my back, coming up so close behind me so I can feel her breasts pressing up against my shoulders, whispering shit in my ear that damn near made me choke on my coffee. The girl’s an absolute menace. 

 

And I want her, bad. 

 

We head out just as it’s turning dusk and ride out of the woods until we hit open countryside. The sky is a dark, honey color and everything under it looks drenched in gold. Animals go skittering underfoot as the horse gallops along the trail, getting us further and further away from civilization. 

 

We don’t speak for a bit. That’s something I like about Maggie. We have comfortable silences now, where both of us is just content to appreciate the land, and the rhythm of the horse, and not need anything else for a bit.

 

You can really hear all of nature when you’re that quiet. Crackling branches, bird calls, bugs making a racket — I’ve never met anyone that appreciates the noise of a long ride like Maggie does. 

 

She rested her head on my back the whole time, her arms wrapped loosely around my middle. She could have been asleep, for all I knew, she was so quiet. But I liked having her there. It felt like we were the only two people in the whole world, and all that noise was just for our benefit. I liked sharing it with her. 

 

Once it got dark, I slowed our pace. We were deep in the valleys by then, with the monoliths of grey mountains looming over our heads. I haven’t looked at those white tops once without remembering how cold and miserable those few weeks after Blackwater were — but there at their feet, it was warm enough for flowers to bloom. 

 

As soon as we slowed down, Maggie drew her fingertip down the back of my neck. I smirked a little, and then groaned as her mouth skimmed my ear. 

 

“You better quit that, back there,” I said without any real heat, “Unless you want this horse to end up like the last.”

 

Still a damn shame about that one. Wasn’t nobody’s fault, but it’s still a shame. I’d like to keep this one around longer, if I can.

 

I heard her pouting, “I liked Horsea.”

 

A laugh sputtered in my chest before I could stop it, “Don’t call it that. Or, at the very least, don’t let Hosea catch you callin’ it that.”

 

She laughed softly at my ear and backed off for a moment. But as we crested another hill, she returned in force, her hands coming up to spread across my chest. Her fingers dipped under the neck of my shirt, smoothing down over my chest, her fingers scraping at the hair there. 

 

She kissed the back of my neck again and I felt the hot seam of her tongue taste the sweat there. I cleared my throat to try and stop from moaning again. Didn’t feel decent. 

 

“Maggie,” I warned. A few more minutes of that, and there’d be no turning back. 

 

But she didn’t seem to be interested in waiting. The hand that wasn’t stroking my chest went lower, below my belt. Her hand found the length of me, already hard after weeks of being at her goddamn mercy and not being able to do a thing about it. Now that we were alone, now that we had the  _ chance _ , my body didn’t feel much like waiting neither. 

 

“Hell,” I hissed out as she started to run her fingers up and down my cock. Even through the fabric, her touch was maddening. Her soft, wet lips on the back of my neck, her cool hand at my chest, her fingers outlining me as I twitched in undignified anticipation. 

 

I yanked up hard on the reigns. Too hard, apparently, as the horse objected with an affronted whinny. “Sorry girl,” I muttered out before pulling her to a stop. 

 

I wanted to get down, but I found myself leaning back, not quite ready to move. Maggie bore my weight against her, my back settling against her chest. She cradled me softly, her hand beneath my shirt curling around my ribs, like a lioness might hold her cub. 

 

“Arthur,” she whispered in my ear, “I want you.”

 

That was all it took to get me moving again. I pulled out of her grasp and then swung my leg over the horse, getting down with all the grace I could muster while I had what felt like a steel railroad spike inside my jeans. 

 

I turned around and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her easily off the back of the horse. I set her down on the ground but didn’t let go of her. My thumbs smoothed over the swell of her hips and my hands grabbed a firm hold of her ass. We pressed up against each other. I throbbed against her belly and she made some kind of noise in her throat that got me thinking all sorts of terrible things. 

 

Maggie put a hand on my chest and pushed me backwards. Not harsh, just slow, leading me back like one might lead a horse. 

 

She pushed me back and then down, where I sunk to the grass and sat there, staring up at her. The moon shone at her back and made her hair glow silver. All the flowers behind her were ghostly white, their faces turned up like some kind of ritual. 

 

She eyed me for a moment and my breath went harder in my chest. The night air was cool but I was burning up like a fever had claimed me once again. 

 

Maggie drew her blouse over her head. She tossed it aside in a patch of flowers and then rolled her neck a little. Her long hair swept her pale ribs, her pink nipples. She was pale as a lily. Every inch of her glowed. The moonlight sang on her bare shoulders. 

 

She took one of her fingers and circled her nipple coyly. 

 

I swallowed, and then slowly removed my hat and set it in the grass beside me. 

 

I wasn’t sure what she was. A ghost, a siren, a witch? She was otherworldly, I knew that much. 

 

And if she was there to drag me to hell, I’d gladly let her.

 

She lowered herself against me where I sat, so her knees were around my hips. Her skirt billowed around us. 

 

I kissed her long and slow while she tugged at the buttons of my shirt. She managed to peel it back off my shoulders and then I shrugged my arms out of it. Her arms went up and down my chest and shoulders until she fisted her hand at the back of my hair. I’d been meaning to get it cut, just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. 

 

I sunk into the grass behind us. Flower stems crushed beneath our weight as the grass made room for our bodies. My skin was burning. I felt like the moonlight was cooking me alive, blistering me everywhere it touched until Maggie returned with her cool as water skin. 

 

I ran my rough hands over her breasts, thumbed her nipples under my calloused thumbs. Every part of her was so smooth. Not a scar to be seen. Unmarred, like she’d just been spun out of starlight moments ago, made for me. 

 

Her back arched as I touched her and she moaned. Her mouth turned against her shoulder as she pressed herself into my touch. I kissed a searing line down her white throat and then took one of those rose bud nipples into my mouth, savoring the taste. 

 

Maggie cried out above me and dragged her nails down the back of my neck. Her hips dug into my lap and I jerked up n shock, the sensation striking me like lightning. 

 

“Maggie,” I panted again her ribs while my hands moved up her legs, traveling under her skirt and up her thighs. Her skin was as soft as flower petals. 

 

It happened quick. Neither of us could wait any longer. She unbuttoned my pants and I hiked up her skirt, and I took her right there, in a field of mountain flowers. 

 

Later, when it was done, she fell asleep in a bed of crushed stems and bent grass. I set up camp and threw a blanket over her, regretting that it stunk of horse. She deserved finer things. 

 

But I made her a warm fire so her dreams would be pleasant and then I sat watch, my jeans still undone, my chest bare, my journal opened on my lap. 

 

I drew her while she slept. In her bed of white, moonlit flowers, with her hair unfurled and one perfect breast left bare by the blanket.

 


	17. stay close.

I didn’t even get the chance to mourn Sean.

 

But he was always there, right at the edge of my thoughts. The way he looked just before that bullet struck him in the head. And the way he looked after. That stuck with me too. 

 

Kid was like a brother to me. And he died for no goddamn reason. A dumb fight we should have never gotten ourselves into the middle of. We’ve got enough problems as it is without getting tangled up in other people’s histories. 

 

But Dutch don’t see it that way. 

 

Even as we rode out to rescue Jack, he couldn’t admit to anyone that we’d stuck our hand into a hornets nest and got what we damn well deserved. Even as Abigail worried herself sick back at camp, while her  _ son _ was gone, Dutch said that it’d all been for a reason.

 

The flames ate up the Braithwaite mansion like it was made of paper. The hag sobbed on the steps where we left her. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that all her sons were going up with it. Dutch told me to leave her, and I did what I was told — but I couldn’t help thinking about putting my hands around that chicken-thin neck of hers and squeezing. Her sons burning to a crisp inside her own goddamn home wasn’t punishment enough, far as I was concerned. She took Jack. She  _ sold _ Jack. 

 

That woman ought to burn in hell. 

 

We rode out with the flames roaring at our backs. I kept thinking about the sound Sean’s head made when it blew open. The end of the sentence he never quite finished. And the way his body fell, how still it was in the chaos all around us. 

 

When we got back to camp, Maggie got up from where she’d been sitting beside Abigail. She had one hand on Abigail’s shoulder, fingers clenched. Bracing her for whatever was about to come. 

 

Abigail lurched to her feet a second later. 

 

_ Where is my son?! _

 

I let Dutch handle that. If there was ever a time for him to spin his silver words and twist a bad situation, it was then. He launched into his speech while I shouldered my way to my tent. 

 

I felt Maggie behind me as soon as I took the holsters off my belt.

 

“How’s Abigail?” I asked dully. Tired enough that I pretended I didn’t already know. 

 

“She’s worried sick.”

 

“Figured as much.”

 

“Arthur.” 

 

I didn’t want to look at her. Too scared, I guess. Too much of a coward to let her see my face, and how twisted up with doubt it’d become. 

 

Maggie said, “I’m sorry about Sean.”

 

I closed my eyes and grit my teeth. I saw him again, lying in the street, the hole in his head big as the moon.

 

I’ve seen death before. I’ve seen it a hell of a lot more than most. But watching Sean die was a special kind of awful. Maybe because it felt like an omen. It was proof that all the bad feelings in my gut were coming to a head, and that my trust hadn’t been misplaced for nothing. It heralded something dark coming, hard as I tried to push that out of my head. 

 

I couldn’t say a thing. Just braced my hands on the table and hung my head. Voices from the other side of camp were muffled, but I could make out Dutch’s and Hosea’s tones well enough. A salve on an open, festering wound. 

 

Maggie came behind me, her arms linking around my middle as she rested her head against my back. I felt her inhale, her lungs filling in time with mine. 

 

I spun around in her grasp and grabbed her face. Not hard, but quick. She didn’t flinch away from me. She just looked up with those big, dark eyes. They were steadier than mine. Maggie held my gaze without fear.

 

“You stay close, you hear me?” I whispered to her, “You stay close to me.”

 

I couldn’t quite say what I meant. My words were getting all knotted up in my throat. I just needed her to be careful. I needed her to stay safe in this new world that was tumbling out of our control. 

 

I don’t plan on losing her. 

 

I  _ won’t _ lose her. 

 

She seemed to get my meaning. 

 

“Always,” she said, nodding into my palms. 

 

I gathered her into my arms after that, cradling the back of her head as she pressed her face against my chest. 

 

That night, I drew Sean lying in the dirt, with a hole in his head, and his blood spilling out into the street.


	18. Chapter 18

> **ENTRIES FROM SHADY BELLE**

 

Shady Belle has walls, and a roof. 

 

I suppose it’s better off than we’ve been in some time, though the place still has the stink of death and the swamps about it. I see eyes gliding about in the waters by the dock. I don’t know if it’s the gators or the corpses we dumped there when we first arrived, and I don’t care to know. 

 

I should be thankful. We got Jack back tonight, and had a big party like we’re known to do when a bit of hope gets kicked our way. Javier played his guitar, we ate good, drank better, and forgot that just a little bit ago we were running out of Clemens Point with our tails between our legs and another grave behind us.

 

Miss Grimshaw set me up on the second floor, and I headed up there as soon as I could get away from the celebration without someone giving me hell for it. Told Maggie where I’d be, if she wanted me. But I knew she loved Jack something fierce, and would kiss him all she could before heading to bed. 

 

There’s a big open window in my room that goes right out onto the roof. That night, I could still hear the party going strong. Javier’s rasping voice. Karen’s laughter. The Reverend wailing. A touch of Maggie’s voice here and there, soft like a silver bell in the rest of the noise. 

I knew I should have been down there. 

 

But I kept thinking about what Jack said when we were riding back. How nice Bronte treated him, how good he ate, how happy he sounded. Sure he missed his momma, any boy would, but I’d be surprised if he wasn’t disappointed coming back to all this. Pearson’s stew and getting uprooted every few weeks was a hell of a lot different from a life with both morning and evening slippers. 

 

I feel sorry for him. If he’d never gotten a taste of how good it could be, he could at least live thinking this was as good as it got. 

 

Made me think of Maggie, too. She was an educated woman. Used to live on a big farm, probably had a nice warm bed and pretty clothes. Sugar in big jars. Ribbons in her hair. 

 

Still, like Tilly said, Maggie made a choice. And she knew how bad life could get, just as much as she knew how good it could be. But Jack is just a kid. How is he supposed to tell the difference between any of it? 

 

Ain’t my damn business, but I worry for him. I worry that he’ll grow up to resent us, and that resentment will harden in his belly and make him mean and cold. And who could blame him? We love him as well as we can, and Dutch preaches all the time about how we’re family — but that don’t make up for the fact that our greed got him stolen and sold right out from under our noses. 

 

“Oh, excuse me, guess this room’s taken.”

 

Her voice was edging on a laugh, but as soon as she saw me, her smile dropped. Her cheeks were rosy from the fire and she looked breathless, like she’d been laughing, or dancing. The sight of her hair flung all about, eyes wet and sparkling and mouth bright pink, made something in me unwind. I managed a chuckle for her. 

 

“You drunk, Miss Sutton?”

 

She closed the door softly behind her and then drifted to me, her skirt churning between her thin ankles like water. 

 

“It ain’t polite to ask, Mr. Morgan,” she said as she came to stand in front of me where I was sitting on the bed, wedging herself between my knees. 

 

“Well I ain’t a polite man.”

 

Her hands smoothed through my hair. One after another, she pushed the sweat tangled strands back. Her fingers scraped gently at my scalp as she combed it back again and again, her motions slow as syrup and just as sweet. A grumble of appreciation hummed in my throat. 

 

“No, you are not,” she agreed.

 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

 

Her hand slid down my face and to my jaw, where she took my chin and tilted my face up at hers. She smiled down at me, her expression somewhere between amused and affectionate. It’s one of my favorite looks on her. 

 

“No, I wouldn’t.”

 

I took her hand and kissed her palm. “You wanna stay here tonight?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

We made love real quiet. Then, she slept tucked against my side, with her arm around me and her nose pressed against my neck. I dreamt about a tiny cabin on the edge of the water, with the mountains at our back and the forest all around us. I dreamt about her sitting on the steps out front, a little boy bouncing on her lap, waving at me as I returned home.

 


	19. ribbon.

It was frivolous and unnecessary, and I don’t know what possessed me to do it. 

 

I was still feeling flush from the Valentine job. And while I’m not usually one for buying things just for the hell of it, Saint Denis had a way about it. I detested every inch of it. The big smokestacks, the grimy streets, the people all crowded together — but it did have a glamour to it. An elegance that wormed its way into your skin and made you want to have nice things. Made you want to pretend you belonged there. 

 

I ain’t never belonged anywhere  _ less _ than I belong in a place like Saint Denis, but I saw that damn blouse and I just had to have it. 

 

The man who sold it to me was overly polite, and he knew damn well I didn’t have no right to be in his store. But my money was good, so he wasn’t about to turn me away. 

 

“For your wife, yes? Simply gorgeous,” he said as he wrapped up the blouse. 

 

I grunted in response. 

 

“She is a lucky woman, her husband has good taste.”

 

I think the son of a bitch just liked to watch me squirm. But finally, he let me go, and I took my pretty little parcel and rode home with it, feeling like a damn fool. I very nearly chucked it in the swamp before I made it back to camp, just to save myself the embarrassment. Who the hell was I, buying fancy clothes for a woman? I didn’t know her size. Didn’t know what she even  _ liked _ . Most of her dresses were borrowed from the other girls, since we’d gotten rid of her soiled wedding dress ages ago.

 

I felt like a idiot riding back to Shady Belle with my neat little parcel and a nervous feeling in my belly. I was too old for this kind of thing. This was a young man’s game, and it was one I’d never been very good at to begin with.

 

But I paid too much for the damn thing to change my mind. 

 

I hitched my horse and then got off, tucking the parcel under my arm quick as a wink. Some foolish part of me wanted to run up to my room and hide it under my pillow, like I was a boy caught with something he shouldn’t have. So I forced myself to walk real slow. Even dared the odds by finding Miss Grimshaw and asking if she’d seen Maggie. 

 

“Out in the back with the horses,” the woman said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. I asked after Maggie enough that she didn’t seem suspicious. And she didn’t spot the parcel under my arm. 

 

I wound my way around the back of the house, working up a few angles in my head. 

 

_ I saw this and thought of you.  _

 

_ I was just in town and thought it looked nice, if you don’t like it I can take it back.  _

 

“What you got there, Arthur?”

 

I jumped about a mile high. 

 

Sadie Adler is about the only woman other than Maggie that I’d describe as a terror. They’re different kinds of frightening though. Maggie has that sinewy, hungry strength about her. Like a thin wolf backed into a corner. Sadie, however, acts about as mean and tough as a bear. I like that about her. 

 

But she’s about the last person I’d want to see what I was carrying.

 

I tried to wedge the parcel deeper into the folds of my coat as she stalked over, her boots scuffing in the moist earth and her belt jingling. 

 

“Just ah…” 

 

I couldn’t even come up with a damn lie.

 

Sadie squinted, “Is that a  _ ribbon _ ?” 

 

_ Shit.  _

 

“It’s nothin’,” I said, but she cut in front of me to keep me from walking by. 

 

“Arthur Morgan, what in the hell is a man like you doin’ with a package wrapped up in a pretty blue ribbon?”

 

She was teasing me, and loving every goddamn minute of it. 

 

“You buy yourself a pretty little dress?” She grinned and shifted my sleeve aside to look at the parcel. She whistled as she saw the wrapping, “An expensive one, by the look of it.”

 

“Don’t you have somethin’ better to do?” I grumbled, shoving the parcel back under my arm.

 

“Than take the piss out of you? Surely not. Now come on, fess up. What’s that for?”

 

There was no getting around it, I supposed. 

 

“It’s just somethin’ for Maggie, that’s all.”

 

Her eyes lit up. 

 

“Aw, well ain’t that sweet? What’d you get her?”

 

“Just a shirt.”

 

“What color?”

 

“Green.”

 

“What kind of fabric?”

 

“Damnit, how the hell am I supposed to know?”

 

“Well, how much was it?”

 

“Sadie, would you just let me give her the damn thing before I lose my nerve?”

 

She laughed real hard at that, “Never took you for such a sap, Arthur.”

 

Something in her face softened though. All the gnashing teeth and fire in her eyes that usually accompanied her expression faded out and she gave me a big smile. Nothing mean or sharp about it, just warm.

 

“She’s gonna love it, y’know.”

 

I felt the parcel burning like a hot coal under my arm. 

 

“It came from you, that’s special. Trust me,” Sadie said and then clapped a hand on my shoulder, “Now go give it to her before your ears get any redder.”

 

A smile got its way onto my mouth somehow. I shouldered past her with a, “ _ Yeah, yeah _ ,” and then high tailed it to the horses.

 

Maggie was brushing down one of the most temperamental of them. That thing would buck anyone who tried to ride it, and bite you in the ass if you weren’t careful. But it seemed to have a soft spot for Maggie. Wild animals have that kind of kinship, I suppose. 

 

“Hey, Arthur,” she greeted me sunnily as I came over. 

 

Her hair was all tied up, but a few pieces stuck to the back of her neck with sweat and curled around the collar of her shirt. The hollow of her throat sparkled in the sun with heat.

 

“Got you somethin’,” I said. Too nervous to think of anything else. 

 

She put her brush aside and wiped her hands on her skirt. Her face was curious, but delighted, her mouth twitching on the edge of that too-big-for-her-face smile. She fluttered over to me in a bustle of rushing skirts and before she even knew what it was, she perched on her toes and kissed me on the cheek. 

 

She smelled like sweet hay and sweat. It drove me wild. 

 

“For me?” She asked.

 

“It ain’t much,” I said as I fished the parcel out from under my arm and handed it to her. 

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said as she inspected the ribbon and pulled at it while biting her lip, like she was right on the edge of a laugh, “You didn’t have to get me nothin’, Arthur.”

 

“Dunno if you’ll even like it,” I said while scratching at the back of my neck. 

 

She undid the wrapping carefully, like she was handling something fragile. Her rosy nails shone in the sunlight as they slid under the paper and slowly unfurled the ribbon. She reached inside and withdrew the shirt with a gasp. 

 

I cringed, thinking that she hated it. 

 

“I can take it back—“ 

 

“Don’t you dare!” She snapped, but her eyes were crinkled in the corners, “This… Arthur, this is the most beautiful shirt I’ve ever seen in my  _ whole life. _ Where the hell’d you find this?”

 

My grin stretched wide, “Just some shop in Saint Denis. You like it?”

 

I noticed then that her eyes were filling up with tears. I balked, my mouth opening up like a fish out of water.

 

“Maggie I—“ 

 

She rushed at me, throwing her arms around me and pressing up against my body. She peppered my face with kisses. A hundred of ‘em, over my cheeks, my chin, my beard, my nose, my eyes, I chuckled and held her, just letting her do whatever she damn pleased. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna complain. 

 

When she’d finally had enough, Maggie pulled back just enough to look up at me from underneath her dark lashes. 

 

“I love it, Arthur,” she said and then kissed me hard right on the mouth. She pulled back, kissed me one last time right on the tip of my nose, and then laughed. “Thank you.”

 

“Gotta get you stuff more often if that’s the thanks I get.”

 

She pinched me in the ribs playfully, “You know you don’t have to spoil me for that.”

 

I caught her wrist and then pressed a kiss to her palm while chuckling.

 

“I know, I know.” 

  
  



	20. bath.

> _cw: nsfw, sexual content_

 

Now, I’ve never been one for being all that adventurous when it comes to this sort of thing. It ain’t like I never thought about it. Just, never had a reason to try. Suppose I never really had anyone to try it with, neither. 

 

Not until Maggie, that is. 

 

Hand to God, she’s the one that suggested it. We stepped foot in that saloon one damn time and it got the wheels turning in her head, I guess. 

 

I felt more than a little ridiculous right at the beginning. For one, it was real clear that neither of us belonged there, or had any right to be renting a room at that kind of establishment. 

 

But our money was good, and most times, that’s all that matters. They could stare all they wanted as we went up the stairs in our dust stained clothes and sun-weathered skin. The room was ours and there wasn’t nothing anyone could do about it. 

 

Maggie disappeared on the second floor sometime before I got to the room. But I knew what I was supposed to do. I tried not to let my eyes pull to the corners of the room where I knew she’d be. Fairer than any queen even in her rags. The women here were all powdered up and dressed in velvet, but I saw not a one. My woman was worth a hundred of them. 

 

I got into the room and then started undressing. Didn’t make no fuss about it, just shucked off my belt and then the rest of it all, eager to get this part over with. 

 

We’d asked the man at the counter to prepare a bath for us. The basin was tucked away in the side room, steaming and stocked high with bubbles. I clambered in and sunk into the hot water, not minding that it was a little too hot. The heat relaxed every muscle I had in me. 

 

I let my head fall back against the rim of the tub and sighed deeply. 

 

Then, there came a knock at the door.

 

Her voice came through, just shy of a giggle, “Need some help in there?”

 

I smirked, “Sure, come on in.”

 

She came into the room like a dream, and I wondered for a moment if maybe I  _ was _ dreaming. It was a better dream than I’d ever come up with, that much was for sure. I couldn’t have created Maggie even in my wildest fantasies. There was just too much detail there that you’d miss if you weren’t staring right at her — the little spark of mischief in her eyes, her flushed cheeks, the way she was wringing her hands but at the same time trying to pretend she wasn’t nervous. Those big ears stuck out from the long waves of her hair, turning pink as she watched me in the tub. 

 

“What’s your name?” I asked, getting more comfortable watching how red her face was turning. 

 

She stooped low to the tub and braced her elbows on the edge. A smile titled her lips and her hair fell from one shoulder to the next as she tilted her head at me.

 

“Clara,” she said without missing a beat.

 

“Nice to meet ya, Clara. I’m John.”

 

Her hand dipped in the water and then slid across my chest. Soap suds collected across my stomach and made everything below opaque. 

 

“You’re better lookin’ than most of the men that come in here,” she purred, her hand trailing lower, but not quite low enough, before coming back up and cupping hot water to pour down my neck. 

 

“That so?”

 

“Mmhmm,” she said, cupping more water in her hand and then letting it spill down my front, “I like your eyes.”

 

“That all you like?” 

 

I could tell she was biting her lip to keep from smiling, “Don’t know yet.”

 

Her hand trailed low, lower, and under the water. I felt the ghostly pressure of her fingers down my stomach and then into my lap. She drew a line down the length of my cock and then grabbed a hold of it, smiling like the devil the whole while.

 

“Oh, I like this, too,” she said. 

 

I groaned a little, pushing my hips up. My skin squeaked on the bottom of the tub. Water sloshed out over the sides. 

 

“But we gotta get the rest of you clean first, right?”

 

She let go and repositioned herself, leaning over the bath sliding both hands down my thighs under the water. Her long hair dipped into the suds as she moved and I watched her breasts pushed up against the steel tub. 

 

My cock throbbed under the water, aching for her touch again. And Maggie knew it. She couldn’t quite hide the smirk that curled the corner of her mouth as she went agonizingly slow up and down my thighs, then up to my chest again.

 

She trailed hot water across my shoulders and behind my ears. Her hand cupped there gently and I turned, noticing her face suddenly inches from mine.

 

I couldn’t wait a minute longer. I drew one of my hands, dripping wet, out of the water and placed it under her jaw, angling her mouth to mine. I kissed her deep. I savored the taste of her, enjoying the way her tongue darted in and savored me, too. 

 

Her hands moved all over my chest. Then dipped below the water again, cupping me between my legs so gently that I moaned right into her mouth. 

 

I pawed at her breasts like a goddamn animal, getting her dress all damp, but too busy to care. I couldn’t stop kissing her for a second. I had to have all of her. Her sweet tongue, her pretty mouth, her tits in my hands. She started to stroke me up and down under the water and I cried out, jerking back before closing the distance again to take her bottom lip between my teeth. 

 

She whimpered softly, which only got me harder. I love her goddamn sounds. Those little, pleading whines, the bell ring of her laugh, even that molasses sticky way she sounds when she’s hurting — I love it all. I want to play her, every single sound, every melody.

 

We were too far away from each other. Too much space between us. She was half in the damn tub already, so I figured she wouldn’t mind.

 

“C’mere, already,” I muttered between kisses and reached out my good arm to wrap around her waist. 

 

In one movement, I swung her up and over the lip of the tub. She shrieked with laughter as she tumbled over into the water with me. Suds splashed over the edge, water slapped the wood floors like rain. 

 

Maggie landed on top of me, sinking down into the heat and rich mountains of bubbles. She didn’t even bother to right herself before grabbing hold of my face and kissing me again. We splashed around like kids in a river, laughing like mad. 

I can’t remember the last time I was this damn happy. 

 

Maggie flipped over and placed her knees on either side of my hips. Her dress churned between my legs and her thighs slipped against the outsides of mine. She pushed me against the back of the tub with her palms pressed against my chest and sat over me, her wet hair coiling against my side like a whip. 

 

Looking up at her, with the sun coming through the window and her dress sticking to her skin, so soaked through that I could see the color of her skin underneath. The rosebud pink of her nipples came through the tan cloth. My cock twitched, pressing against her, near painful with how hard it’d become. 

 

“Maggie,” I panted as our laughter faded into heavy, labored breaths. I felt my cheeks going red, half with heat, half with desire. Steam rose around us. Her lips parted, bright pink and needy. Her eyes went wide, like a doe, waiting. Hovering right above me, like a wolf ready to make the kill, or a bird ready for flight. Couldn’t tell which.

 

“I love you,” I said, ready for either outcome. If her teeth sank into me, or she fled from me, I’d take it. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t say it right then and there. 

 

There was a moment that froze in time. The steam went still. The water quiet as a pond. 

 

“I can’t help it, goddamnit. You make me happier than I got any right to be, Maggie.”

 

She took my face between her wet hands. The warm water on her skin dribbled down my cheeks and into my beard. I held my breath for a moment, the silence deafening before I broke it again.

 

I swallowed, “I think you’re about the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

Her hands remained on my face,  palms pressed hard against my jaw. 

 

“Arthur Morgan,” she said, real slow and lowered her head, pressing her forehead against mine. I felt her breath over my lower lip. The warm flesh of her brow. 

 

I held her eyes, unable to look away. 

 

Maggie whispered, “I love you, too, Arthur Morgan. And I’m never gonna stop.”

 

We kissed. Deep, slow, hungry. The water lost its heat but her body was warm, and I wrapped my arms around her and stumbled out of the tub. Water splashed along the floor as I stood up and got her sopping wet dress off of her. We let it sink to the bottom of the basin. 

 

Then I hoisted her up and carried her to the bed. I laid her down and we dripped on the sheets, suds still sticking to our skin, making a slippery goddamn mess of everything. She stretched back and I climbed over her, moving a hand between her legs and finding the dark thatch of hair between them. I ran a finger along the moistness and groaned as she made that pretty little sound in response. 

 

“Please,” she begged me.

 

She hooked her ankles together at the small of my back. Her heels slipped against my skin. And that was all the goddamn invitation I needed. 

 

I guided myself inside her and she cried out, her head slamming back into the damp covers as her hips bucked up to take more of me. The tightness of her, the warmth, the wet slickness — I saw stars. I grunted as I moved with her, thrusting my hips again and again. Her breasts bounced with the movement, round as peaches and just as soft. 

 

“Arthur!” she screamed, “Oh, God,  _ Arthur! _ ”

 

I braced a hand in the damp pillows at the side of her head and pawed at a breast with the other, guiding myself in and out of her as slow as I could bear before it got to be too much, and I couldn’t do anything but go faster and faster. Until my breath sawed in through my lungs and sweat replaced the drying water on my skin and Maggie screamed for all she was worth. 

 

When it was done, I got up and used the sheets to wipe what had dribbled down her thigh. I collapsed beside her, sweating like a damn pig and feeling better than I had in weeks. Every muscle in me burned sweetly. Made all the better by Maggie leaning over and draping her arm around me. 

 

I kissed her forehead. 

 

“I think they might be upset with us ‘bout the floors,” I murmured, smirking all the while. 

 

She nuzzled my arm, “I ain’t sorry about it.”

 

“Me neither.”

 


	21. riverboat.

“You think  _ Bill Williamson _ is the one for the job?”

 

Dutch gave me a long look as I spoke. Hosea chuckled a little, clearing his throat to try and make it seem like he wasn’t. Dutch gave  _ him _ a look then, and Hosea held up his hands in surrender. 

 

“He’s got a point, Dutch. Bill wouldn’t be my first choice to rub elbows with the elite.”

 

Dutch rolled his eyes, exasperated “We need someone who won’t garner a lot of attention and can swindle the stragglers who aren’t playing.”

 

Hosea and I shared a glance. I cocked an eyebrow, “And you thought that man would be  _ Bill _ .”

 

The idea of that man getting himself into a goddamn suit, least of all roaming around a  _ riverboat  _ was more than I could handle. If it was anyone other than Dutch, I might have laughed myself sick. 

 

Dutch stroked at his mustache a bit, considering. Say what you will about him, but he at least takes what Hosea and I take into account more often than not. So long as we’re agreed upon it, that is. 

 

“Well, what about Miss Sutton?” he asked.

 

My jaw clenched, and my words came out harder than I meant them to, “What about her?”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Hosea said, “She’s well suited to blend in. We get her a nice dress, she can charm whoever we need her to. I can guarantee she’ll have more success at it than Bill would.”

 

I did not like that, not one goddamn bit. But I could already see I was outnumbered. There’d be no use arguing, the two of them had already decided.

 

“I ain’t her keeper,” I said when they both looked to me, “Ask her yourselves.”

 

***   
  


“Why, my dear girl! You look marvelous!” Trewlany said when he saw her.

 

We got her a nice dress. All cream and lace, she looked like a high society lady that didn’t have no business being with the likes of us. 

 

She’d twisted up her hair with a silver band and had ribbons woven throughout. A few, thin wisps curled down over her shoulders, soft and ghostly. 

 

She caught me looking a few times and smiled all shy. I could tell she wasn’t used to looking all dolled up like this. Powder on her cheeks, stain on her lips, pearls along her throat. I smiled back, giddy at the sight of her. I didn’t love the idea of having her here, where things were sure to go south, but I couldn’t deny that she looked damn beautiful. 

 

“An absolute vision! You’ve put the rest of us to shame!” Trelawny continued, “ _ Simply  _ stunning!”

 

“All right, ease up,” I grunted as I helped Maggie into the coach. 

 

She sat down and gave me a look. The one that said  _ Be nice, Arthur _ , but was trying to keep from laughing all the same. I climbed in beside her and Trelawny got in on the other side.

 

“Ah, yes of course, dear boy. You must forgive me, I couldn’t help myself!”

 

Maggie covered my hand that was resting on my knee as the coach rocked and driver urged the horses forward. The setting sun turned her cheeks gold and her dark eyes glowed like warm braziers.  She looked excited. Can’t say I blame her — not often we get trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys and take a ride on a riverboat. 

 

But I’ve done enough jobs with Trelawny to be worried. He only ever thinks of things halfway through. He can spin you a story about how perfect it’s all going to be, but something is bound to go wrong. One of these days he’s going to get himself in a mess of trouble that even we ain’t gonna be able to get him out of. We shall see, I guess. 

 

Maggie didn’t do much to contain her smile as she stepped on the boat. The guards looked her over, but didn’t see much need to ask her for her weapon. Which we’d counted on. Maggie don’t look like someone that would know her way around a gun, or a knife. She just bats those big brown eyes and gets away with everything. 

 

The rest of us weren’t so lucky. I don’t like bein’ without my gun. Especially in the middle of a goddamn river with no real way out. I don’t like the idea of robbing anyone without a gun either. Most everyone is afraid of a bullet. They won’t put up a fight if they suspect they’re about to get one in the head. But the absence of a gun makes even the most spineless men brave. 

 

Still, Trelawny insisted it’d be fine. Strauss would give me signals. Once I won, Javier would come to the safe with me, posing as a guard. Trelawny and Maggie would do what each of them did best. In Josiah’s case, it was charming in the bartender and making friends with anyone who had the misfortune of looking his way. 

 

For Maggie, it was making herself scarce and picking pockets away from the tables. Sometimes, the people with the most money were the ones too afraid to lose it. They’d stay to the upper decks and likely be liquored up, eager to make conversation with a pretty girl and ignore her hand in their waistcoats. 

 

She kissed me on the cheek before she and Javier split up from us. I watched the tail end of her dress slip through the crowd before Josiah pulled me along into the game room. “No mumbling, no shuffling,” he reminded me in a terse whisper before we got through the doors. I rolled my eyes. 

 

I  _ am _ capable of putting on a show when necessary. Nobody seems to goddamn remember that. 

 

I played a few rounds as Arthur Callahan, and managed to win a watch off a man with a white rose in his breast pocket. After I’d cleaned him out, the pit boss lead me upstairs to the safe, just like Trelawny predicted. Javier and I shared a glance before he turned, looking every part the guard in his switched out uniform, and began to lead us up the stairs.

 

I didn’t see hide nor hair of Trelawny, or Maggie, for that matter. I tried not to make it like I was scanning the boat for them, and just smiled at the man in front of me with a placating grin every time he looked back at me. Agreed with him about whatever the hell he was babbling on about. Kept him thinking I was a wealthy patron, and not the man about to rob him blind.

 

Once we made it to the safe, I stood back a bit. Gave Javier a nod. 

 

The bolt of his rifle went back into the other guard’s face. Then he aimed the barrel at the pit boss, who raised his hands and looked back and forth between the two of us. 

 

“ _ Don’t _ go for that gun,” I warned him. I could see the handle of it sticking out of his coat. 

 

I disarmed him and then threw him off to the side, pocketing the gun myself. Just had a feeling I was gonna need it. 

 

And just like goddamn clockwork, Javier was yelling my name, warning me. I saw a flash of silver to my left and drew my gun before I even turned around. The bullet cracked in the silence as it split his head open and he fell back against the window. 

 

“Can’t believe that son of a bitch had a second gun,” I muttered as I stooped back down to the safe. 

 

Javier guessed we had a few minutes at most before someone came to investigate. Turns out, I only needed one to get the money and slip the watch into my pocket. We ducked out the door and headed toward the back of the boat and back down the stairs. 

 

Back on the game floor, I followed Javier like a pleasant patron and attempted to blend back in with the crowd. Sooner or later, something was going to give. But we could buy ourselves some time with pretending. 

 

I spotted Josiah at the bar and meandered my way over. Maggie was there too, leaning up against it with her long white gloves and lace, staring over Trelawny’s shoulder at the man he was arguing with. The man I’d cheated out of all his money and his watch, in fact. 

 

She must have sensed me coming, because her eyes snapped to mine as I waded through the crowd. I jerked my head a little to the left.  _ We gotta go. _ She nodded and put a hand on Josiah’s back. 

 

I had every intention of hauling him up and asking him how in the hell we were getting off that damn boat, but I never got the chance.

 

“ _ There he is, shoot that man!”  _

 

It all happened pretty quick after that.  Javier spun on his heel and shot the guard next to him in the gut. Then he tossed me his rifle and darted left. I caught it one hand and wrapped my free arm around Maggie’s waist, dragging her back behind the bar with me. She hunkered down against the bottles with me as I reloaded the rifle.

 

“Stay down,” I told her and she nodded. 

 

I popped in and out of cover to take shots at the guards, all the while cursing Trelawny and his half-cocked ideas. The shootout continued for a bit, with guards scurrying out of every goddamn crack in the boat. They swarmed like roaches. I could barely keep up. 

 

“We need to get outta here!” I bellowed. 

 

I reached down and pulled Maggie up by the arm. We ran out from behind the bar together while Strauss snapped his head around at me.

 

“Oh, how do you suggest?”

 

“I dunno, this ain’t my damn show!” I hollered, taking Maggie by one hand and shooting with the other, “And silly me I clean forgot to bring my gondola!”

 

“Arthur!” she warned from behind me. 

 

I turned right and shot another man in the head just before he fired on us. I pushed Maggie ahead of me in Javier’s direction. He’d opened the door to the deck outside. Which was about the best way I could think of to get off this damn boat too. Not my favorite way, but we were clean out of options.

 

“Go, I’ll catch up!” I called. 

 

Maggie gave me a firm nod and then picked up her skirts and ran for it. Javier ushered her through the door while he laid down cover fire. Strauss ran in too, and I guessed Trelawny was already long gone. 

  
“Arthur, you coming?” Javier yelled.

 

I emptied the last of my bullets and then took a running start for the edge. I blustered out of the door and onto the deck just in time to see Maggie leaping off the bow. Her ghostly figure, in all those fine silks Trelawny bought her for the job, dropped from view and I heard a splash below. 

 

Strauss was dead ahead of me, “Oh, but what about the gators?”

 

He jumped as soon as he said it, which was a good thing, since I’d been planning to jump whether or not he was out of my way or not. We both landed in the water together. The water wasn’t warm, and it sucked the breath right out of me. I broke the surface with a gasp and then pushed my lead limbs to swim. 

 

“Maggie?!” I spat out river water as I yelled it. 

 

“I’m here, Arthur!” 

 

Her hair had come all done in the water and her dress shimmered like a reflection of moonlight under the surface while she tread water. Just ahead of her, I spotted Josiah swimming for shore. 

 

“Alrigh’, just follow Trelawny!” I called. 

 

The five of us swam for what felt like miles before we got to the docks and pulled our sorry asses out of the river. Josiah reached down to pull me up, and then I turned around and reached down to pull Maggie up. She was laughing when I got my arms around her and her dress slapped against the wooden slats, sopping wet. She wiped water out of her eyes, still grinning, as I righted her on her feet. 

 

“Well!” Trelawny laughed, “Never a dull moment!” 

 

“Yeah, that’s one way of puttin’ it,” I muttered, spitting river water out of my mouth. 

 

“So, what did we get?” 

 

I counted out the money from the safe. A few thousand wasn’t bad by any account — especially considering what we’d just gone through to get it. I handed out the bills, wet as they were and then gave the watch to Strauss to look over. 

 

“Got this too,” Maggie piped up all of a sudden. 

 

She reached down her bodice, and I had to clear my throat because it was quite a sight. When she pulled her hand back out, it was full of gold chains and pearls. The handful jingled with the promise of more money — but the thing that really got me was the proud smile on her face. She looked between the four of us excitedly, grinning a kid who’d just found a nugget of gold in a riverbed.

 

“Well  _ done _ , dear girl!” Trelawny crooned.

 

And that time, I didn’t stop him.   
  



End file.
